A Messenger's Angst
by nevergone4ever
Summary: "A mark on the neck of the nosy; this evil thing, it knows me... Flesh and blood to ashes, a messenger's fallen down." Welcome to the 108th Hunger Games!
1. Psycho Girls Crying to the Birds

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_**I can't seem to face up to the facts, I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax.**_

_**I can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire. Don't touch me, I'm a real live wire.**_

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**Aldo Conaire, 60, District Six Citizen/Rebel**

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Another year, another pamphlet.

I settle down in my easy chair, smiling over at the sleeping image of my wife, Marissa. Her greying hair, her laugh lines near her thin lips, her wire-framed glasses, everything about her is still as attractive to me as she was when we first met.

But I can't focus on my beautiful wife right now. I have a paper to write.

Thanks to Dalton Chroma, a victor consumed by morphling and his own demons, we've been able to invite him over to dinner. Squeeze confidential Capitol information out of him, because, for some reason, some idiotic citizen from there thought that it was a good idea to trust, of all people, a drug-addicted victor. He's on some board that discusses the differences of districts. A representative, if you will.

It's been easy to lure the secret information out of him. A drink here, a little allure from my daughter there, and boom, we've gotten all we needed.

Dalton's a mere pawn in our master chessboard.

The information we've received from him has been jotted down in my mind, and then on a weeknight before the Reaping, I write it all down and my son delivers it to the rebels that reside in Asper. Asper's the poorest of the poor communities in District Six – can barely stride past without flinching at the putrid smell of death or drugs. The Peacekeepers have long since stopped arresting people for possession – the jails were packed to the brim, people mingling and exchanging diseases and needles like animals.

I'm not sure what the rebels' main plans are – I'd assume that, since my role is mainly for extra information, not at all along the lines of any master plan, they'd use my writings sparsely. But who can be too sure?

They could never trace it back to me. The one thing I have, besides my mind, strong still in my sixties, is the ability to alter my handwriting. Silly, stupid, almost, but beneficial.

Once I am done with my writings, my son, Dell, and his little pale partner in crime – girlfriend? – Kaziah will venture out to get the information to Asper. It's better to do it at night, as to avoid all people. Curfew is a thing here. Though the risk of being caught is high, it's not as high as during the daytime – Peacekeepers do searches even in daylight. They swarm the streets, poking through purses and pockets. I've seen them tear open personal letters. Swipe toys from babies that seem suspicious. They have no shame.

At least at night, they retreat to their usual posts, set throughout the district at opportune points. Dell and Kaziah have figured out the perfect route to go where, if they move quick enough, they won't be seen at all.

But it all has to go perfectly. Otherwise, something… not so nice will happen.

Without another thought, I pick up my silver pen, and place the nib down on the creamy canvas of my notebook.

_District One is fueled by its recent reputation to bring home not older victors, but younger victors, such as Lincoln Albea and Pelly Harrequin. It was believed that perhaps District Six might follow in their footsteps, as with their new twelve-year-old victor, Felicity Thymas, winning last year. But ever since Pelly Harrequin won his Games, this district has seem to run dry, victor-wise._

_They have multiple training academies, but none are the so-called 'official' academy, so to speak. They're as popular as schools, I hear – for every thousand students, there's one or two academies, stocked to the brim with teenagers aching to become trainers or tributes. Some leave their formal educations at schools, others run away from their homes. District One is a district full of extremes, it seems, and not to the better._

_All in all, this district really hasn't changed much over the years. Maybe a few more academies were built, maybe some people got richer and some poorer. Precious resource mining remains the main source of many people's incomes._

I swivel my hand around on my wrist for a moment, allowing the ink to dry, before picking up the pen for round two.

_District Two, however, has changed significantly. From being the almost timid district that offered up volunteers sparsely, now, a year without a full stampede of people wishing to throw themselves at death is unheard of. Rowdy and loud, the Reapings are packed full of tensions and high-strung emotions. Some cry if they don't get in, some cry if they do. Despite this, District Two has run like a well-oiled machine. _

_The victors are often close with the top trainees of the academy, picking out their favorites, though, at times, an unheard name will slip through. Such is the case of Lance Lemier, the most recent victor. Blessed with white hair and a dreamy smile, he slid right onto the stage without a second thought, and killed with that same unnerving smile. Rumor has it he's murdered his own parents in cold blood. But who could trace it back to him?_

_District Two is the pride and joy of the Capitol, closest in ties with it than any other district. Masonry and carpentry are the main exports of this region, and for a good reason, too – brute force paired with a hard work ethic produces merciless tributes with eyes on the prize._

Ah, District Two. I smile, eyes flickering over the page. No secrets. Everything is perfectly in the clear. I sometimes wonder why the rebels ask me for these pamphlets – I never question them, though.

_District Three has sprouted from a tiny seed to a full-fledged tree. From being an underdeveloped, scrawny district whose main exports were simple electronics, we have truly grown. More jobs have been offered up, either for heavy lifting or manufacturing, not just technological careers._

_The tributes that come from this district, though, have remained fairly similar to other years – either dumber than a box of rocks but strong, or measly, but intelligent, the previous years have offered two breeds of tributes. It's rare to find an attractive tribute who's dim, but it's happened, like a jewel in a mine of coal. _

_But, as with any district, there are surprises – those three are just the norm. Last year we had a young male tribute who was very striking with appearances, and sly to pair with it. Shame that he had to get in the way of the dagger of the other boy – he had sponsors lining up for him, I heard. Disasters can happen. Remil proved that._

District Three – also transparent as a window. The first couple districts are like that, though – no secrets. Open books.

_Known as the third official Career district and barely landlocked, District Four could be viewed as the less ominous one. Sometimes opting to venture off on their own, District Four tributes are very contrary to the ordinary molds of what makes a Career, a Career. They can be solitary loners, or they can band up with the pack, or they can form their own separate alliance. They don't conform to typical standards._

_The Reaping in District Four is rather polite and organized, compared to the unruliness of Two. Though not as systemized as One, perhaps, since there is clearly still room for improvement, being animalistic is not one of this district's traits._

_The academies sparsely scattered throughout the district are available to a select few who can afford it – lesser important academies and afterschool programs are accessible by the lower classes, and those are usually overshadowed by the bigger ones. Training academies usually have a limited array of weapons, consisting largely of tridents, hooks, spears, and the 'norm' for District Four, toolwise._

The main Career districts are done being described – and the most prideful, too. Maybe I connect with the outlier districts more because we are humble, down to earth. Most don't know where their next meal comes from. Most are poverty-ridden. Deaths lurk around every corner. District Five happens to be a great example of this.

_What once was a much more wealthy district, is now reduced to the poverty of previous District Twelve. District Five is ridden with homeless people who lost their jobs in the great economic crash five years ago. Only the better-off kept their jobs, and even the upper middle class was impacted. When you stroll down a street in Five, I've been told that you'll smell the sweet, putrid scent of death and hear the withering moans of soon-to-be-corpses._

_Volunteers from Five are scarce but not unheard of. Most of the volunteers are kids too scared to commit suicide, but looking for a way out of their unfortunate situation. They're usually early deaths, though one or two have been known to slip past the bloodbath. The Reaped tributes are none the better off, either – almost no wealthy kids get chosen. Personally, I haven't seen one picked since before the crash._

_All around, District Five is one of the poorest districts in Panem at the time. Where there was once riches, is deficiency. Dearth. Death. A general lack of everything. Oh, how I pity the Five citizens…!_

A sigh escapes me as I turn the page, shaking my head at the misfortune that the poor district faces.

_District Six, however, has only flourished, economy-wise. Those who stay away from the binding clutches of morphling stay intact in their work and lives generally. For the upper crust who don't give into drugs and addictions, life is good – no poverty on that part at all. _

_But the lower half. It's worse than Five. Corpses litter the grounds of the ramshackle, derelict neighborhoods, making the entire place reek of dried blood, morphling, and flesh decay. Insects swarm about, clinging to the sweaty, ruddy faces of those struggling to inject themselves with the godly substance. Many turn to prostitution to pay for their morphling, or sell themselves out as general slaves. This is the half of the district that the mayor prefers to keep under lock and key._

_The tributes for Six usually follow in the footsteps of where they came from – normally, the tributes will come from the slightly larger majority of the upper class, and they're normal in the Capitol, smiling and waving like good lapdogs. Those who come from the run-down neighborhoods, like Checkdamp and Asper, are forced out of the spotlight, their mentors pushing the more privileged tribute in front. It's hard to notice, but once you do, you can't get the image out of your mind._

How terrible it would be to be a morphling addict, even if some of the rebels have to pretend to be one as they reside in Asper. I stare at my written words once more, shake my head with an air of finality, and turn the page once more.

_District Seven – where to begin? In a district full of clean air, as an aftermath of all the trees, there lie numerous secrets, darker than their marred hatchets. Their victors may have rigged their Games. Who would have expected Kaniva Croix, of all people, to come out on top, anyways? The red-haired weakling with family issues, somehow coining more sponsors than ever thought possible. Who else would be to blame but Basil and Obsidian Krane?_

_Volunteers in this district used to be plentiful – some even thought that they'd be the fourth Career district. But for some reason, those volunteers have all dried up like dirt with a drought. They're scarce now, much like in other districts. The tributes that are Reaped get a good variety amongst them between weaklings and stronger ones, but no volunteers. No victors aside from Kaniva, either._

_District Seven has never had the closest ties to the Capitol, which may be why they could be a beneficial ally in the revolt against them. Stirrings amongst the district, however, have allowed the Capitol to place a giant target on their backs, which is a serious con to this effort._

I peer out the window, then glance at the clock. If my son, Dell, is going to deliver this to the rebels in Asper before morning, he'd better hurry. My writings are going to get shorter, much shorter. It's nearly midnight. Perhaps I'd better just write brief summaries…

_District Eight – bad for ties with the Capitol (past history of revolts has made the Capitol weary of them), good for tribute alliances, open about rebellion. Low volunteer count. No academies._

_District Nine – good ties with the Capitol, to be avoided at all costs. The "snitch" district. High volunteer count, small training group powered by the victors trying to become fourth "Career" district. Two alive victors, Roland Sanders and Olivander Wheaten, both struggling with morphling, the latter more prone to it._

_District Ten – high revolt count, but huge target on back. Openly rebellious, perhaps the most unruly district, despite its high wealth. Low volunteer count, no new victors to speak of since Dalli Revere._

_District Eleven – just above Five and Twelve, poverty-wise. Just earned a new victor, Serine Nevera. Occasional volunteers, mainly to escape the binding restrictions of working in the fruit orchards. Neutral in ties with the Capitol, may be susceptible to change._

_District Twelve – lowest poverty rate besides District Five. Rebellious streak has been quelled ever since their so-called Mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen, bit the dust. Now neutral in ties with the Capitol, but tentative. No volunteers whatsoever for years, but a new victor has recently been unveiled six years ago – Destyn Odana. To be avoided, due to shaky conditions._

My writing finishes up just as a knock patters gently at the door. I stand up, peer out the window, to see my son's slim, short frame. Moving to the front door, I open it cautiously.

"Are you being trailed?"

"No, Father," he answers. His hand extends out for the envelope. "I don't have much time. I was waylaid by a suspicious Peacekeeper who thought I was out after curfew. I managed to convince him that I was merely out late at school…"

I manage to look not so grim, lightening up with a small smile. Dell is so smart – something he inherited from me, seeing as Marissa is, well, at the mental capacity of a twelve-year-old. "Did you bring Kaziah?"

"She's waiting behind the tree," Dell says after a moment's hesitation. He turns, makes a sort of soft clicking noise with his tongue, and a pale hand juts out from behind the tree, waving softly. He motions to the envelope. "May I have it, now?"

I pause, gritting my teeth and taking a good look at my son. Brown hair slicked back, brown eyes, slight traces of acne. He's barely a man. I hate having to do this to him, but every time, he's accepted with a willing attitude and motivation. "Here, son," I say gruffly, thrusting the envelope with the writings into his outstretched hand.

He accepts it with a slight smile. "Thanks, Father."

"Don't get caught," I warn, a catch in my throat as I shut the door on him.

They won't catch him… will they?

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**A/N: Psycho Killer by Talking Heads.**

**Look who's back, with her fifth SYOT - nevergone4ever! Or Kelly, or Sophia, or whatever name you have stored up for me. ;o**

**Yeah, pretty much everybody here knows the deal - the form is on my profile, no reviewing in your tributes, and.. yeah. It's always nice to see some new faces, though, so tell your friends! And message me if you ever need help on something. I'm surely not gonna turn somebody away because they're confused or in need of some help.**

**Can't wait to get down to business, though. :) Who knows if this is my last SYOT? Maybe? Maybe not?**

**On any rate, I'm definitely finishing this one - I've made it my personal duty to finish each story I commit to. It's only fair to all of you.**

**Yeah, I'm done ranting. There's no set deadline, but.. I kinda wanna get the tribute list kicked out before May. **

**Dropping a review would make you an instant bae! :)**


	2. Mocking the Crying Killers

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_**Tough girl in the fast lane, no time for love, no time for hate.**_

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**Kaziah Armandy, 17, District Six Citizen/Rebel**

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Dell surges past me, almost missing me. I give a little gasp, chasing after him as he rounds the corner, his silhouette dark like a black cat at night.

Well. Basically how he already is.

"Dell," I whisper loudly, my feet pattering after him. He whips around, his eyes full of sudden worry. He sure wasn't like this when he was talking to his dad.

"Kaziah, you need to be quiet," he harshly whispers to me, though in a noticeably muted tone. "We need to hurry and get this to Dre and Josine… they know what to do with this information. It's vital."

He starts forward again, ducking underneath a low-hanging tree branch to get out of the yard, and I bite my lip, continuing after him. "B-But Dell, didn't your dad say that-"

"Stop it," Dell hisses, his dark eyebrows casting eerie shadows in the hollows of his eyes. He's taking this deathly seriously. "You can't speak of this like that, so casually… not out here, Kaziah. We can talk when we get back to my home."

"But-"

"Kaziah!" He whips around, his face a mask of frustration. "Do I need to personally escort you back to my house for being a nuisance? I'll do it if I have to, Kaz, I swear…"

"No," I gasp, muting the sound by bringing my hands up to my mouth. I shake my head. "I want to come along. We'll be alright, I swear."

"Keep your mouth shut for twenty minutes and we should be fine," Dell grumbles, turning away and storming forward.

I trail after him, staggering my way through the darkness. I want to cling to his hood, maybe even hold his hand, but I'm afraid he'll just get madder. I can't risk that, he's the only friend I've got – and I'm pretty sure that it's mutual for him, too. I love him too much for him to have to snap at me.

Silent like statues, we slide through the night in our dark clothes and bated breaths. My whitish hair's been propped up into a ponytail and tucked inside a hat, but there's nothing that we can do for my pale skin, really, nor Dell's. Our faces shine like moons in the inky sky. But I doubt anybody's glancing out their window at this ungodly hour – and I doubt they could pick us out, even if they were. No moon nor stars tonight. The perfect cover.

It takes a while, stalking past the more well-off neighborhoods, to get to Asper, which is basically the pits of Six. My breath hitches a couple of times whenever we slink past a house of a person I know, and I silently pray that nobody will glance out their window.

But what could they do, though, even if they did see us?

They can't shoot the messengers.

They may tattle on us for breaking curfew, sure, but in the bigger picture, the jails are mainly filled to the brim of mingling druggies. If there was a bigger crime like assault or murder, those criminals would have to be placed in a holding cell on a train. From there, a person – usually surrounded by loads of Peacekeepers – will drive the train containing the criminals to the Capitol, where they can be tried and executed, if need be.

How do I know this? Well, the fact that last year I got to deliver the envelope, too, was certainly helpful.

I stumble over a rock, lost in my thoughts, and Dell lets out a brief yelp. He's quick to smack his hand over his naughty mouth, eyes wide and frightened, most unlike I've ever seen them before. He shudders, head whipping around to see if anybody else heard him.

One minute passes, then melts into two. It seems that the coast is clear.

His shoulders relax, eyes gradually growing softer and more gentle when all of a sudden, a yell explodes from behind him.

A shriek erupts from my lips before I know it, and I topple to the ground, curling my knees up into my chest and digging my nails into my own legs, pulling myself closer into my torso. Dell's stare snaps to me, and he quickly does the same, his movements fast and fluid.

"What was that?!" I croak out, my voice cracking and shaky.

Dell has time to shake his head, his hand tightening around the envelope, before we hear the footsteps. Marching, loud, trampling noises, like the boots of Peacekeepers…

Tears sting my eyes, but I swipe them away almost angrily. I might not be the brightest most of the time, but there's one thing I can do, and that's fight for the people that I care about. And I care about Dell, more than most people I know.

"Roll," I whisper loudly to him, my voice piercing the air that's growing in volume.

To give an example, I quickly tuck my arms to my sides, rotating my body, swiveling and swiveling under a hedge, opportunely placed at the side of the street. Dell watches me, his mouth parted and eyes widened, and I motion for him to hurry up, to get under his own hedge. Maybe the Peacekeepers won't search very thoroughly…

It's almost too late. The Peacekeepers have swarmed right by us, obscuring my vision of Dell, and they mix about themselves. I see the silver glint of a taser, a gun, and some other weapon that I don't even know what it is.

I _hope_ Dell's hidden himself away.

For a couple long moments, the Peacekeepers whip their heads around, looking like tall, slim, white bugs with their shielded helmets, but then, salvation – they tread past us.

I almost sigh in relief. Dell must have tucked himself under the hedge. He's safe. I'm safe. We're both safe.

I can see the soles of the Peacekeepers' feet as they walk away from our hedges, and I'm all too happy to be this close to getting out, unwedging myself from the uncomfortable position. Our mission will be accomplished. We'll get to Asper, deliver the information to the rebels, and they'll cook us up some stew to eat and fix up a nice mattress to sleep on for the night.

It's all going to be okay…

Darkness consumes the backs of the Peacekeepers as they walk away, and I slide out of my hiding spot. "Dell?"

My voice is soft, but he hears it. He wriggles out of his own space, offering me a tentative smile. "Quick thinking back there, Kaziah. Nice job. You saved us…"

"That's the point of a partner," I giggle gently, standing up and dusting the dirt off of my knees. "Come on, let's just get to Asper. It's been so hectic tonigh-"

A gunshot.

I whip my head in the direction of the Peacekeepers, my stomach sinking with dread. I see them all, weapons pointed, glimmering in any light that they can catch.

We're trapped.

But…. But they _can't_ shoot the messenger…

A moan comes from my side, and my gaze snaps there. If I had any sort of blood still pumping, it's completely frozen in my veins.

Dell's been shot.

He clutches his arm, and from what I can make out, it's bleeding everywhere – dribbling onto the ground, seeping into the paper of the envelope, staining his sleeve. A gasp escapes me and I rush toward him, his figure still hunched on the ground.

"_Freeze_!" A voice shouts.

I can't freeze. I've always been trained to run.

My hand finds Dell's, on the arm where he hasn't been injured, and I pull him to my feet. A bullet whizzes past harmlessly, cloaking the street in a loud gunshot. The pandemonium rolls off of me like water off a duck's feathers. I tug Dell along, forcing him behind the hedge as another bullet chases after us.

"We're done for," Dell chokes out, shaking his head.

"No, we're _not_!" I shriek out, a tear streaking its way down my cheek. My body convulses with a shudder and I try to contain myself from bursting into hysterical tears, breathing deeply, like the situation isn't serious, like we're not about to be gunned down at two in the morning.

"_Freeze!"_

"_Surrender any weapons you have!"_

"_Get on the ground!"_

"_Stay still!"_

The Peacekeepers' voices ring in my ears. They're running closer, closer, ever closer. If I'm to save myself, I have to leave Dell behind – he's closing his eyes, accepting his own fate already.

I drop his hand and bolt.

A streak of bullets flash behind me, and almost immediately, white hot pain ripples through my thigh. I choke out in pain, stumbling over the combined forces of a storm gutter and the sudden wound in my leg.

I collapse to the ground.

Clutching onto my thigh, staring back at the people behind me, I watch the blackened figure of Dell stand up, his face contorted in agony and worry for me, and I can only stare as a hail of bullets erupts from behind him.

They've shot the messenger.

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**A/N: Big Girls Cry by Sia.**

**... ;)**

**I tricked you, didn't I? You thought that this showed off the tribute list, huh? ;)**

**Well, after replying to all 87 PMs containing tribute forms, I have come up with a sensible list, I have. I just am not ready with the blog quite yet - so keep an eye out for that, alright? But yeah, more soccer this week, but guys, I am trying! And TI is a story I haven't abandoned, either - minor writer's block on that side of my profile. **

**Anyways, submitting now is rather pointless, but... yeah. **

**Keep an eye out for that third and final prologue, containing both the blog and tribute list! :)**

**And once again, dropping a snazzy little review makes you a snazzy little bae, xo. **


	3. A Killer, a Mockingbird, and a Girl

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_**Maybe one day we'll wake up and this will all just be a dream.**_

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**Felicity Thymas, 13, District Six, Victor of the 107****th**** Hunger Games**

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With a trembling fist and my tongue wedged gently between my front teeth, I rap on the door. It soon becomes clear that I don't have to fear; once Gingham opens the door with a toothy grin toying on her thin lips, I immediately am welcomed into a hug.

"Come in, come _in_!"

My heart fluttering at her kind words, I trail after the elderly woman into her home, taking in the delicious scents of turkey braising in the oven, warm cookies just fresh out of the same appliance, and frothy hot chocolate cooling on the stove. Our dinner is almost ready. Dinner before the first year of me co-mentoring.

Scared? I am, a little bit. But it's not like I'll have to actually train a tribute. It's just so I can watch and learn. Maybe even offer a couple helpful hints, if they want to take advice from a thirteen-year-old.

But I won't be picky.

I've learned that being picky and indulgent will only get your Adam's apple sliced.

Jeremiah and Cleo taught me that.

Shuddering at the thought of my fallen allies, I turn to the table, smiling down at the shimmering silverware. "You've sure got this all worked out."

"Television helps." Gingham gestures to the tiny set that lies in the corner of the counter, flashing neon lights of a Capitol talk show. A purple-haired woman with incredibly long nails makes a joke in her funny little accent, and the laughter rises up like bubbles. "They showed more of that news story on the Conaire and Armandy case."

"Dell and Kaziah?"

"Whatever their names were." She shrugs. "Both were killed that night. They're investigating their families - but so far, the slates have been absolutely clean."

"Cool..." I shudder briefly.

Must be terrible, to lose to an effort you were fighting against. Their deaths were so gory, too - twelve bullet holes in Kaziah Armandy alone, and Dell Conaire got around twenty. The Peacekeepers were relentless, I heard.

I shake my head. I don't have to think about that.

"Can I help with anything? You seem like you have it all settled out."

Gingham taps her lips with a fork briefly, eyes flickering over the room before they light up. "Oh, you can run over to Dalton's house and rouse him! I'm sure he doesn't want to be late for the turkey. I just need to fork the potatoes and we should be ready."

Offering her a quick thumbs-up, smiling to myself, I dart out the door and onto the porch, where I can see the lawn. Dead in all ways, and to pair with that, blackened by the fire that we had a couple weeks ago.

I still wonder why Dalton set the fire. I distinctly remember waking up to the smell of smoke and thinking that it was my father burning toast or something. But then, panicked shrieks. Guttural howls. Scratching noises.

Running out of my room, I remember the twisting feeling in my stomach when I saw the leaping flames, and the look of pure fear in Gingham's eyes as she darted out to her porch, only to be contained by the flickering oranges and reds, and then the utter disappointment that she saw once she saw Dalton with the kerosene jug and lighter.

Good thing that District Six has a lot of water pipes.

It's not like Dalton is a sociopath or anything, though – he has problems, but they're not what some people think. Morphling's consumed him. It's consumed Gingham, too, but she's getting better. I even remember my own brother's short-lived battle with it, before he was discovered by Mom.

Humming to myself, trotting up the stairs, I knock on Dalton's door a few times and stand back, hands behind my back.

He doesn't open the door in a minute. So I wait.

One minute melts into two, then three, and by the fourth minute I'm practically gnawing on the porch chairs to satisfy my hunger.

Usually I'm polite, meek, quiet even. But I'm sort of upset with Dalton for starting that fire, and to top it off, he's going to make the turkey and potatoes get cold.

I open the door, and it swings open with a loud screech.

Cringing slightly at the noise, I venture forward into the house, glancing around at the high ceilings and the vividly colored paintings that Dalton seems to love so much. It all reeks of morphling and bleach, which is used to clean his needles, I suppose. Such a vast difference from the welcoming food smells of Gingham's home.

"Dalton?" I yell out.

My voice bounces around the otherwise silent house, reverberating back to me. I wait another moment in silence before hollering his name again.

_Is he here?_

I creep up the stairs, ducking my head into a doorway briefly to look for him. The room is empty. Heaving a loud, heavy, angry sigh – he's making us late for dinner! – I storm to the next one, his bedroom. The door is shut, and I tear open the door handle, dipping my head in to see…

Dalton.

And his wrists are a mess of blood.

Choking back a gasp, stumbling backwards, my heart pounds against my ribcage like a musician mercilessly beating a drum. A strangled cry emerges from my lips, and curiosity gets the better of my suddenly numb body. I creep forward, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

It's an obvious suicide. Dalton's outstretched fingers are reaching towards the knife that did the deed, stained with dried blood. His eyes are rolled back in their sockets, eyelids unclosed. His lips are parted, like a ghost of breath has just emerged for him to breathe his last.

Deader than a doornail.

A trembling hand reaches out, feeling his pallid forehead. Like it'll do any help.

"_G-Gingham!" _I scream.

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**A/N: Mockingbird by Eminem.**

**Not one to mince words. Some got in, some didn't. I got more submissions for this SYOT than any one I've ever done. I want to thank every single person who submitted - apparently I didn't get back to as many people as I thought I did - but... I appreciate the time and effort you spent into making your tributes. At least now you can have a ready-made tribute to submit to another story, eh? ;O  
**

**I chose the tributes based on their personalities, mainly - I don't factor in how long or short the form is, but how well made their personality is and how their dynamics with other tributes will become, and how much potential I see in them.  
**

**Something funky is happening to the blog, too... It's happened on basically all my other blogs but Teen Idle, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Just... click on "Older Posts" to see the rest of the tributes, alright? **

**amahungergames . blogspot . com (No dots!)**

**Without further ado, the list that I know you've all skipped ahead to see!**

**District One.**

Female - Auriga LeFleur, 16.

Male - Quentyn Allard, 18.

**District Two.**

Female - Jazzlyn Li, 17.

Male - Corton Paventi, 18.

**District Three. **

Female - Aegis Crowley, 17.

Male - Klaus Gaveston, 18.

**District Four.**

Female - Jada Paquet, 18.

Male - Ayden Navarro, 17.

**District Five.**

Female - Cerise Ramirez, 15.

Male - Jude Caswell, 18.

**District Six.**

Female - Arika Rillon, 15.

Male - Kyran Venegas, 18.

**District Seven.**

Female - Eilat Clouseau, 16.

Male - Codee Balister, 13.

**District Eight.**

Female - Kaori Saito, 15.

Male - Sutter Pryce, 17.

**District Nine.**

Female - Kelsier Arkell, 18.

Male - Demetrius Blair, 17.

**District Ten.**

Female - Devyn Aldion, 16.

Male - Silo Emmer, 18.

**District Eleven.**

Female - Kiah Devlin, 16.

Male - Solari Cordova, 18.

**District Twelve.**

Female - Caleigh Herier, 18.

Male - Foster Carney, 18.

**There's your tributes! Question time, anybody?**

_**Thoughts on each tribute?**_

_**Chart (on a love, like, neutral, dislike, hate scale?)**_


	4. Reaping Pt One

.

* * *

_**I'm just one face in a crowd, waiting for luck to seal my fate.  
There's no hope for mercy when death is just a game.**_

* * *

**Lincoln Albea, 25, District One, Victor of the 95th Hunger Games**

"My first year without Domika mentoring beside me…" Pelly groans slightly from my side, his eyes watery and wide. He might be just two years younger than me, but he still looks just like the same innocent fourteen-year-old who came home from the arena trembling and sobbing.

He puts up a brave front nowadays, but I can tell that on the inside, he's aching.

I rub his back gently, glaring out at the upbeat mass of kids. There's a buzz in the air. People are excited to volunteer. Excited to throw themselves into the arena with the promise of fame and glory.

If only they knew that it wasn't that easy.

"We'll be fine without Domika," I say, moving my hand along his frail shoulder blades. "We didn't control her death. She was the one who drank herself into a stupor and died."

"You act like it's not a bad thing, Lincoln," Pelly replies accusingly, his tone full of misery. "And yet, Sheen and Teal are popping pills and buying more liquor by the day, and you're not doing anything to stop _them _from going down the same path as Domika."

"I can say the exact same thing for you."

That shuts him up.

We sit in silence for a while as the new escort, a young woman with clunky high heels and purple hair, taps on the microphone, her knees knocking together in the awkward shoes. She clears her throat, eyes darting out shyly to glance at the crowd. "H-Hello?"

I poke Pelly's arm. "Newbie," I grunt.

He cracks a smile, a rapid change from his recent dejected mood.

"Um…" the escort clutches the microphone in a hand, her long silver fingernails clacking together. "I suppose I'll Reap the girl first?"

"_I volunteer!"_

"How much do you wanna bet that that's the voice of a blond chick who thinks she's the greatest thing ever?" I crack, searching for some sort of movement up to the stage.

Pelly frowns. "She could be a brunette, for all you know."

Onto the stage comes a lean girl, the skirt of her pastel blue dress rippling as she mounts the stairs. She tosses her head back and offers a sassy smile. "My name is Auriga Lafleur," she announces into the microphone. Only after she says that does she remember to plaster a smile onto her mug.

"Be glad you didn't bet me any money," I growl to Pelly, who helplessly shrugs.

The escort looks a little more enthused now that she's had a volunteer. She grins at Auriga, who crosses her arms. "Maybe I should Reap the male now…?"

"No need!" A loud, charismatic voice booms from the male section, and I immediately see a tall boy with a prominent jawline start to stride up with confidence and verve. He gets to the stage in no time, nodding to Auriga and then to the escort. "I'm Quentyn Allard, and I'm quite pleased to be here."

"Hot," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "You can have the poser boy. I'm more fascinated with Auriga."

"Fine by me…" Pelly offers a small smile. "Maybe this year will be the one that we can bring somebody home. Maybe Domika's death won't be in vain."

"We can dream, huh?"

* * *

**Eidra Nevett, 36, District Two, Victor of the 90th Hunger Games**

* * *

I bounce lightly on the balls of my feet as teenager after teenager passes me by, each with a winsome grin on their face.

"Nice to see you, Eidra!"

"Your hair looks fantastic, Mrs. Nevett!"

"Good luck this year!"

I can only beam and nod, accepting the compliments. District Two might be rough and tumble, but in the end, we accept each other. We love each other. It's like one huge family, and it seems like I'm one of the matriarchs of it.

I could never hold the full matriarchal spot – no, Hestia has that position, and she rides it well. She's done so much for Two – starting homes for the underprivileged, taken orphan after orphan into her home, only to have them flourish into a developed teenager who can provide for themselves, and maybe least importantly to her, she's educated _me_ on how to be a better person.

I want to follow in her footsteps. To try and make this district a more harmonious place.

For eighteen years I've been nothing but a bum, sitting back and taking what this district has to offer for me, accepting offers to party, to date, to whoop it up. I'm done being so young and playful. Now, it's my time to give back.

Perhaps my way of giving back will be saving a tribute from death.

I smile at Slate as the escort mounts the stage, stroking his greasy little beard and leering at us both. "Morning!"

"I noticed you didn't say good…" Slate smiles back faintly. "Grandkids kept me up all night."

"They're year-old twins," I giggle as our escort calls out some name, barely paying attention. "Of course they-"

"Corton Paventi is my name!"

A lean boy with a smirk painted onto his thin lips creeps his way next to the escort, towering over the Capitolite's smaller frame. He pats the man on the shoulder a couple times and gazes out into the audience, his head held high.

"Pleased to see you all, District Two!" Corton announces proudly, wiping the side of his fist on his trousers. "I hope to return home as soon as I can!"

"Oh," I say unnecessarily. "They've started."

"I'm surprised you didn't watch the scuffle," Slate scoffs. "Corton punched a guy in the nose. Look at him, dripping blood on the stage… Dear God, I hope he gets a kerchief, somebody could slip on all that nose-blood… Like me… and I _just_ got this new knee replacement…"

"_Females_," yells the escort nasally, plucking a white slip out of the second fishbowl. "Beyon-"

Multiple shouts arise from the square, and a herd of females rush forward. Blond hair, black hair, brown hair, red hair, even a couple girls with whitish hair swarm the pathways to the stage, like a pack of mosquitos on a hot summer's day. Shrieks can be heard from just about everybody as punches and slaps are delivered. I even see one short blond with enormous front teeth take a huge chomp on a dark-skinned girl's forearm.

Pandemonium. But I love it.

I keep my eye on one particular group up front, with three brunettes, an Asian, and a scantily-clad redhead duking it out. One brunette quickly falls, screaming as the Asian shoves her off the stage. The redhead's next to go, one of the brunettes swiping her crop top right off her skinny frame. Her cheeks flush red with shame as she ducks away.

The two brunettes and the Asian size each other up, before the Asian quickly twirls, kicking her foot out and making both other girls bonk heads, ramming into each other. A satisfied grin on her face, the black-haired girl rushes up to the microphone, though visibly winded.

"Jazzlyn Li," she says proudly, nodding to Slate and I.

"Fascinating…" I muse quietly. "Though I think I'll take Corton, he just seems more easy to handle. You okay with Jazzlyn?"

"But of course!" Slate's eyes glow warmly. "The fighters always come out on top, don't they?..."

* * *

**Jayce Alridge, 17, District Three, Victor of the 106th Hunger Games**

* * *

"What an exciting year! Your first year of _mentoring_!"

Xandra cackles happily, throwing herself at me, wrapping her long arms around me in a hug. Her chest shoves itself up towards my face and I close my eyes, gritting my teeth at her blatancy. She's hot, sure, but she's so _old_. Like almost forty years old. "That's right…"

She steps back, obviously not aware how marred I am by her sleazy move. She twists her lips slightly, tilting her head a little. "Shame about Candor, though. Brain cancer and all."

"He's not dead yet."

"Might as well be," Xandra snorts, ruffling the skirt of her checked black and red dress and taking a seat. "He's done nothing for this district. Brought not one tribute home." She balls a hand into a fist. "Not one! I had to be the one to drag your sorry body back home."

"Hey, now," I protest. "I was perfectly capable. I killed!"

"You killed a twelve year old," Xandra snorts. I'm about to cram a retort in her smug little grin when she suddenly slaps a hand over my mouth, clutching the sides of my jaw. "Shhh, tributes are being Reaped!"

Our escort, a tall woman by the name of Tiana, adjusts her tiara as she smiles down at the masses of tributes. "Females first," she says in her silly high-pitched voice. "Let's hope we get a strong one, eh?"

Tiana teeters over in her ridiculously high heels and carefully selects a slip of paper. She glances down her long, pointy nose, and without further ado, promptly hollers, "Aegis Crowley, get up here!"

A curse word is growled loudly, and I see the scowl before anything else. The girl, striking with her pale skin and red hair, storms up to the stage briskly, offering a middle finger as Tiana tries to give her a handshake. Crossing her arms, glaring at anybody in the audience who tries to offer a sympathetic grin, she's sizzling.

I _want_ her.

I mean, I want to mentor her.

She doesn't say a word as she remains up on the stage, clutching the sides of her arms and shaking her head silently to herself, like she can't believe her own luck. Her jaw is set with anger. Her entire profile radiates bitter hatred.

"I want to mentor her, please," I whisper to Xandra, still staring at the incredible girl in front of me.

"Believe me, she's all yours," hisses Xandra, wrinkling her nose with disgust at Aegis.

"District Three… your male is Klaus Gaveston!"

The entire square is silent, bar a few thankful sighs that emerge from relieved boys who didn't get selected. My eyes scan the crowd with interest for this Klaus Gaveston.

It all comes at once. From just around the front, a lanky boy with a round, pale head and a mop of dirty blond hair – physically dirty, I mean, it _is_ rather greasy –starts stepping up the stairs of the stage, top lip curled in disgust.

The second he steps on the stage, it all happens so fast – he wraps a thin arm around Aegis, but the poor redhead is stunned by this. Her scowl evaporates for a split second in shock that somebody could embrace her in this situation, and a tightly balled fist whips up, connecting with Klaus's nose with a snap.

Peacekeepers swarm Aegis, and she struggles out of their grip with a suddenly desperate expression, while Klaus clutches his face. He's not angry, though, rather staring at his district partner with vague interest.

If he's interested in her, that makes two of us.

"Looks like we've got real contenders," Xandra says breathily, shoving her cleavage towards me again and giggling. "Want to… come and discuss them?"

I smile at her attempt to get me alone. Silly. Funny. But effective.

"I'd _love_ to."

* * *

**Lana Fidelis, 27, District Four, Victor of the 96th Hunger Games**

* * *

"My eyes hurt from looking at all this fresh potential," I snark, glaring at two young girls who walk past, giggling and chattering. They go silent when they pass me.

"Don't be mean to the children, Lana," sighs Mysti. "Just because you're not the best at mentoring doesn't mean you have to take it out on everybody."

"Me, not the best at mentoring?" I whip my head to glare at Mysti instead. "Are you trying to tick me off today, Mysti?"

"No…" She shrugs, smiling with her chubby, chubby cheeks. "Just mentioning that I brought Calder home."

I flip my thin blond hair over a shoulder, ignoring her smarmy face. "Yeah, well, you're arrogant."

"And you're cynical. Are we done here?"

I wrinkle my nose. "Let's be," I grumble.

Our escort struts past us, a woman named Ellia, with a tiny waist, a huge bosom, and even puffier facial lips. "Darlings!" she huffs, pursing her bright red lips and placing a hand on her miniscule hip. "You better bring somebody _home_ this year!"

"We're trying our best," Mysti says quietly, her head down. "We… we were so close last year."

"Yeah, and he lost to that girl from Six," snarls Ellia. "The _twelve_ year old. Obviously, you two need to work on your mentoring skills a bit better."

"At least we're trying!" I cry out. "Instead of sitting, applying horrible-looking lipstick and cramming donuts and making snarky comments about how others choose to live their lives, like a certain escort I know, we're actually being proactive!"

Ellia's thin eyebrows dip into a glare. She drapes a hand protectively over her crimson lips. "Just try for once, alright?"

As she sashays to the stage, I can't help but growl after her. "Must be so easy to be an escort. All you have to do is ask the names of two tributes and make sure they aren't slobs who throw their food."

"Our job is much harder," Mysti consoles me.

Up on the elevated platform by the microphone, Ellia beams wickedly down at the bustling crowds of potential tributes. "I'll Reap your male first, out of tradition!" she chirps, not even making the move to grab a slip of paper.

The infamous phrase is called calmly. Out of respect for the boy who yelled first, the children are silent, watching for the boy who called up.

He appears from around the front, nodding calmly to Ellia to confirm that yes, he was the volunteer. Mounting the stairs of the stage, brushing his sandy-colored hair back with a hand, he speaks gently into the microphone. "My name is Ayden Navarro. I am seventeen."

"Looks like I can volunteer now, then!"

A loud voice pierces the tension that Ayden seems to bring about. I see her all at once – a tall girl clad in a thin grey dress, with thick, dark eyebrows that match her long locks. She takes a stand next to Ayden, smiling gently at him, and lets her name ghost the microphone, too. "I'm Jada Paquet. Eighteen years old."

"Both threats," Mysti says cheerfully, her eyes twinkling superficially. She glances at me from the corner of her eye. "Which one do you fancy, Lana?"

"…Ayden." I smile fakely back at her. "You can have Jada. I mean, I need somebody littler on my hands, right? So I don't botch this mentorship up, right?"

Mysti's smile melts into a frown, and I can tell she's about to berate me. I turn away.

I don't need her criticism. I've always been a solitary person. I can work just fine on my own.

I don't need _anybody_.

* * *

**Leif Bachiri, 22, District Five, Victor of the 104th Hunger Games**

* * *

Kassidy glares at me.

"What's your problem?" I deadpan at the old woman, crossing my arms. "Are you just offended that your granddaughter _wanted_ to hook up with me?"

"She's _pregnant_, Leif," Kassidy growls. Her dark brows narrow down towards her pert nose. She leans back a little and gives a huff of exasperation. "I should have known, really. Why should I trust you to watch over her while she was down and depressed?"

"Call me a playboy all I want," I muse flippantly, "but at least my life is _active_, if you know what I mean."

Kassidy's lips perk up in a snarl. "My great-grandchild is going to be your spawn!" she hisses. "My very first one, too!"

I lean back and sigh. Maybe I do feel bad about impregnating her grandchild. Maybe just a little bit. But the girl was right there on the sofa, gnawing on her carrot sticks and complaining to me about how lousy her boyfriend was, how boring and monotonous her life was, and she was dressed in that tiny, _tiny_ pair of jean shorts…

Or maybe I do not feel bad. Heck, it was _fun_. No regrets, right?

Chea, the escort, is up on the stage before I can speak another word to Kassidy. Always buzzing with energy, Chea was. I smirk, offering a casual nod as Chea glances over. Her long fingers flutter in a carefree wave, the slip of paper tucked neatly between her thumb and pointer finger.

That's not the only thing that her fingers do, I'm sure.

"District Five, your female is Cerise Ramirez!"

Gasps are heard around a younger section, and all at once, girls from the fifteen-year-old part stumble away from each other, eyes glued to a dark-skinned female with striking black hair.

The girl looks dazed at first, lifting her head slowly and tucking her frosty lips into a frown. She touches the side of her jaw, eyebrows drawing together in worry. _"Me?"_ she mouths, her voice silenced by shock.

One redhead from behind her gives her a gentle push, and she stumbles forwards. Her eyes are watery with tears, but she bravely puts up a wavering smile as she slowly steps up to the stage, the sleeves of her white tunic ruffling.

I want her. I love her determination. I love her bravery. I love everything about her.

Who cares if it's a snap decision? I like my assumptions.

Once I tell Kassidy this as Chea plucks out a male slip, she merely guffaws. "Anything's better than that girl," she sneers, glaring at the trembling Cerise. "Take her."

"Jude Caswell, please stand up!"

There's not even a _brief_ waiting time for Jude as there was with Cerise. Striding from near the front of the stage storms a lanky boy with an expensive jacket ruffling in the breeze that he creates. His features are carved. His eyes are dark and searching.

Once he gets on stage, it's obvious that Chea is flustered over him. She fans herself girlishly, giggling and batting her eyelashes. She likes what she sees, maybe. But all the emotion that Jude displays can be found in the disgusted curl of his upper lip.

"Good thing you claimed the girl…" Kassidy gives another cold chuckle. She's obviously still ticked over me and her granddaughter.

She'll get over it. I mean, clearly, Jude has the upper hand here. He's bulkier and seems to be more prestigious, yet pretentious in his posh jacket and all. Cerise seems to be another one of the people stricken worst by poverty – I can see that her white tunic is riddled with tears and stains that show through no matter how hard they were scrubbed. The trails that the tears made show clearly through a thin layer of dirt on her face.

The poor girl's got a lot of work to do.

But I believe in her.

Maybe.

* * *

**Gingham Cleaver, 60, District Six, Victor of the 66th Hunger Games**

* * *

Felicity curls into my side.

"Gingham," she whimpers, her big blue eyes watery with salty tears. "I'm scared… I didn't know that I'd actually have to mentor…"

"Nobody knew, honey," I murmur back, gently kissing the top of her head. She smells like lavender shampoo. "We couldn't help it, with Dalton and all…"

"I feel like it was my fault," Felicity sniffles, tucking her legs into a crisscross formation. "I mean, I'm the one who found him… and I yelled at him so much for starting that fire… but Gingham, I couldn't help it!" She stands up suddenly, disrupting my peaceful state. She stares at me with quivering lips. "Gingham, I was mad at him! He… he could've killed _you_!"

"Shhh," I soothe her, rubbing comforting circles on her back as Felicity collapses into my arms, whimpering. "You're okay now… you're okay."

"But it doesn't matter if I'm okay." Felicity looks up, breathing raggedly. "It's just about you…"

I shake my head, taking her by the shoulders and sitting her down gently. "Felicity, please calm down. It's going to be fine. Just… watch the escort."

The lady in question offers us a gentle smile, then looks down in concern at Felicity. "Does she need something? An aspirin?" She pulls at the neck of her stretchy pink top, reaching into her bra and withdrawing a slim white pill. She offers it to my fellow mentor, who shakes her head resolutely.

"I'm fine," Felicity says bravely.

Our escort – Ancyra – smiles. "Good on you, Felicity. You're so strong for a girl of only thirteen!" She glances at the silver watch on her skinny wrist and the smile melts into a frown. "Well, I'd like to stay and chat with you two, but…"

"Time for the Reaping." I sigh, but force a smile for poor Felicity's sake. "Try to get some kids who have a strong fighting chance, will you, Ancyra?"

"For sure…"

The escort stands behind the microphone, gazing sadly out at the potential tributes. Felicity huddles closer to my side, her silky white dress grazing my bare legs.

"Arika Rillon? Dear?"

A blond girl is quickly spotted around a younger sector, shaking like a leaf. A brunette next to her hugs her tightly, tears already streaking down her face. Slowly but surely, the blond girl walks up, a lip curling up in disgust as she continues trembling.

Felicity gasps softly, and I feel for the poor thing. That was her exact reaction when she got Reaped last year. But instead of curling up and crying for the girl, as I'd expected, Felicity glances up at me. "Could I… could I mentor her?"

A nod is all that comes from me, and tiny arms are thrown around me. "Thanks, Gingham… you're the best!"

_No, you're the best,_ I want to say. _For mentoring a girl who has little to no chance._

"Kyran Venegas!"

This time, I don't have to search to pick out the Reaped. A blond boy clad in a thin white shirt strides to the stage, already mounting the stairs as my eye falls upon him. His jaw is clenched with silent anger. His hands are balled into tight fists, his knuckles glimmering with blond hair.

"Maybe it's better that I took Arika," Felicity whispers, pained. "I don't think I would have the strength to be Kyran's mentor… you're a lot more tough than I am, Gingham."

I smile with tight, closed lips, and offer up a nod. Onstage, Kyran and Arika shake hands, both of them giving off wonderful poker faces. Even Arika's lip curl has faded, and she just looks blank.

Everybody's trying to be strong. Felicity wants to live on in Dalton's name. Ancyra the escort is willing to help out in any way she can. Arika and Kyran are trying, already trying so, so hard.

I'm the weak link.

My hand slides inside of the roomy pocket of my jacket and I find the needle, pricking the tip of my finger. The very needle that I used this morning… when I relapsed…

No matter what Felicity says in admiration, I am not strong.

* * *

**A/N: Reaping by The Tributes.**

**Here's our first batch of Reapings, then! I've decided to split them up into two parts because, well, I physically cannot stand the idea of doing twelve individual POV's in one chapter. Especially for something as monotonous as Reapings. Yikes. ;/**

**I've tried my best to distinguish each district, and, well, let's see how I did! :)**

**Questions!**

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Who stood out?**_

_**Favorite tribute/mentor? **_


	5. Reaping Pt Two

.

_**Hold in every tear, no matter what, I must appear strong.**_

* * *

**Kaniva Croix, 22, District Seven, Victor of the 103rd Hunger Games**

* * *

"Another year, Obsidian! Another year of mentoring fruitlessly!"

Obsidian sneers playfully from beside me, slapping hands with kids as they pass by, nodding to their victors – also known as me and him, with Basil lurking in the background. "You don't know that, Kaniva," he growls, eyebrows raised slightly. "Who knows? This could be our year."

"…Or it could be like every other year." I smile falsely. "If you believe that this year will be the year that we finally get a kid out of the arena, gee, then I'm the president."

"Thought you were Kaniva." He rolls his eyes. "You need to learn to have a little bit of respect for your elders, girlfriend. You're acting up."

"Please, you're, like, fifty now," I tease. "I'm sure that you're past the 'elder' stage." But I do stay quiet after that. I like to stir the kettle, sure, but I know to stop when the pot gets boiling, ready to bubble over.

Basil soon joins us in the chairs for the victors, patting his little brother on the back and offering me a timid smile. "Are you sure you want to mentor this year, Kaniva? I can take it if the heat gets to be too much for you."

"I'm fine," I gag friskily, loving the dynamics between us three. "I'm pretty sure that you won't be much better. You're, like, eighty-nine years old. I'm sure that I'll connect with the teenagers better than a grandpa will… Gramps."

"You just said I was fifty," Obsidian muses.

"Yeah, well, age differences these days." I smirk, shrugging. "My parents got a seven year difference. Maybe you have different daddies! Who knows, really?"

"Now I know that you need to have your mouth taped," Obsidian hoots as Basil shakes his head, trying to conceal his own smile. "We most certainly have the same father, thank you very much. Though whether I got this stellar charm and good looks from my mother or father is still in question…"

"Are you sure that you didn't get it from your great-great-great grandfather? The _homo sapien_, was his name?" I snigger, wanting to embellish upon it. "Big ears down to his knees, hair everywhere but his nose, toes long as tree trunks… That's sure some good looks right there! I'd hit that!"

Obsidian thwacks my forehead lightly as the escort, Julian, taps the microphone. "Quiet, you."

"Your male, District Seven," Julian cuts into our conversation, his growly voice booming throughout the square. The male sector is filled with unrest and shifting, uneasy kids. "… Codee Balister."

Shouts quickly emerge from the back, voices filled with shock and misery. A little crowd has formed.

"Not Codee!"

"Please, somebody… volunteer!"

A small boy with dark skin and puffy hair quickly emerges from the group, holding up a hand. "It's alright, guys," he seems to be saying. He takes one last look at the circle and jogs to the stage with a very fake smile. Tears tremble in his eyes, but he doesn't dare let them drop. Little as he may be, he seems to be very brave.

"Thatta boy, Codee!"

"Stay strong, man!"

Cheers from the back, the voices now hopeful, arise. Warmth floods my heart. "I want Codee," I say resolutely to Obsidian. "I don't even need to see the girl. I doubt she could hold a candle to Codee's cuteness."

"All yours," Obsidian snorts.

"And your female, District Seven!" Julian plucks a slip, peers down his long nose. "Rihan-"

"I volunteer!"

"You should have thought twice," Obsidian says smugly to me before standing up, craning his neck to see the girl who shouted.

She jogs up to the stage breathlessly, tendrils of dark hair curling around her angled face. Nodding to the escort and then at Obsidian, Basil, and me in turn, she turns to the microphone, straightening her denim shirt. She clutches the handle. "I'm… I'm Eilat Closeau."

Eilat stands there for a second, slightly swaying, before she inhales suddenly, apparently feeling the need to say something else. "It's gonna be fun, and I know you all will _love_ to watch me! And, um, Codee too!"

"Fun, fun, fun!" I trill as Julian tears the microphone from Eilat's hands, and she and Codee give each other a once-over. "A freak volunteer and a boy the size of a poodle! Looks like we're in for a real rollercoaster, huh, Obsidian?"

* * *

**Ashton Kendrick, 21, District Eight, Victor of the 101st Hunger Games**

* * *

"Sutter Pryce!"

The voice finally, finally, finally breaks the tension between me and Velour. I clasp my hands together, grateful for the escort to have shattered the awkwardness that hangs in the air wherever I go. I don't even know why people isolate themselves from me… I mean, I'm harmless.

_Harmless enough to win a death match, huh?_

I force the voice out of my head as I search for the boy whose name was just called.

There seems to be a crowd of people surrounding the boy. Apparently he's very popular. They don't call out to the escort, though, as many other friends of the Reaped do, but rather, embrace him, sobbing already. If I squint, I can barely make out the blurry image of a stricken boy with a stupid smile lingering on his lips.

Eventually, though, the escort gets impatient of waiting. "Sutter Pryce, please come up here," she snarks, glaring at the group. Sutter breaks free from the ring of boys and clambers noisily onto the stage, eyebrows raised. He doesn't seem to be wavered – he shows no signs of being mad or sad. Just… shocked.

"Now I can Reap your district partner." The escort offers a smarmy smile, her purple lips stretching upwards. "Got any suggestions for me, Mr. Pryce?"

"Make her hot."

I chuckle to myself, avoiding the harsh glare of my fellow mentor, Velour, as the escort – I think her name was Kay – plucks a slip out. "Kaori Saito?"

This time, it's not just in a small circle – sighs and angry gasps from everywhere arise. Even I recognize the name, and I seem to have been living in a hole my entire life. My heart melts as the poor girl, eyes wide with surprise and lips parted with a gasp, slowly treads up to the stage, her fancy cream dress fluttering with each step that she takes.

She's done so many good things for this district, it would be hard to come upon somebody who _hasn't_ heard of her. A model child, you might call her. A role model.

So why are there no volunteers?

Kay seems to recognize poor Kaori, too – her usual porcelain face shatters visibly. She tries to say something to the girl, but words fail her. She instead hangs her head, ashamed to have Reaped such a special girl.

"Your tributes, District Eight…"

Kaori and Sutter are quickly ushered out to the Justice Building by Peacekeepers. Velour and I linger behind as the remaining crowds trickle out slowly.

"Well?" Velour spits out at me.

I recoil, blinking. "W-What?"

"I've picked my poison, I want Kaori." Velour scowls. "You don't deserve to select the tribute you want… I'm sure that Sutter's too good for you."

"Velour, please-"

"Shut up, Ashton…" She trails off, an angry glare hanging over her face. "I just wanted to tell you that you don't get a choice. Just take Sutter and try not to get him killed last."

She flounces off, leaving me sitting dumbly on my chair, facing the nearly-empty Square with my heart in the pit of my stomach. I didn't mean to be such a monster in the arena, honestly. It just came naturally. But I've repented. I'm a good person now.

So why does everybody still treat me like I'm scum?

I bet Velour's right… Sutter's too good for me. Compared to him, I'm the dirt on his shoe.

I don't deserve to even look at him or Kaori…

* * *

**Roland Sanders, 57, District Nine, Victor of the 68th Hunger Games**

* * *

Olivander is losing it, I'm certain.

I don't even need to look at him to determine he's too far gone. If he was bad a year ago, he's gone to the dogs now. He's so unattractive to be around, to even set my gaze upon. His eyes are milky – there's a very pale brown orb just located in the center. His skin sags and is a jaundiced shade of yellow. He's given up shaving – there's a full, straggly beard growing around his chin.

He's given up hope for himself. He could care less about the fate of the tributes we have to mentor.

Sometimes I think the only reason he stays alive is for his girlfriend. She's a little strange, like a hippie. A good ten years younger than him, with limp blond hair and natural, starchy clothing and yellow teeth. A little spacey, a little strange. But she takes care of him. So I respect her.

But she can't fix Olivander… nobody truly can.

Sometimes I wish that he was the same man that he was around twelve years ago, when we first started the training program for young kids preparing to go into the Games. A wannabe Career district, we were called. Scorned and mocked by all.

But really, it has helped. Our tributes get farther and farther each year. Last year, we even had a finalist. All we need is a stroke of luck to truly reign victorious.

"Ready to seize the day, Roland?"

Our escort for this year – a young woman by the name of Cohn – strolls by peacefully, smirking gently at me.

"My favorite part of the year," I deadpan, sighing as she steps up to the microphone.

The male is called all too fast. When it is called, though, I'm half-expecting a strong, competent boy from our training sessions to take the stage – when no volunteer emerges, I'm whole-heartedly disappointed.

"Demetrius Blair!"

And as not one person calls out to volunteer, a bulky boy from the front steps up.

I sigh, leaning forward and resting my palms on my knees to see the male. He's got dark brown eyes and a heavy glare. Stepping onto the stage, even having the decency to duck his head and swipe a tear from his eye, he seems like a heavy teddy bear.

Different from the volunteers, at least.

Cohn smiles up at Demetrius as he stares stonily ahead. She's about to go and pluck another slip of paper from the female's bowl, but the heavens are good. Out of the front section of the girls comes an ear-splitting shriek.

"I volunteer!"

I recognize the yell instantly. Even before she bounces up and introduces herself, I can identify Kelsier Arkell simply from her tone of voice.

She's a special girl. She joined my training program a few years back, and though being a little less intelligent than the norm, she's a brutal machine when it comes to artillery. Who needs brains when you have brawn, anyways?

Exactly.

Kelsier flashes me a toothy grin, already playing up the charismatic card. As she grabs Demetrius's frozen hand, forcing it up, and as I glance over at Olivander's sunken, hollow face, I immediately know which tribute is more in need of my mentoring. Which tribute could use my help more. I'm certainly more competent than Olivander.

But I am a selfish man. And I know which tribute I'll _actually_ be mentoring.

* * *

**Eagle Hugh, 78, District Ten, Victor of the 48th Hunger Games**

* * *

I can't move.

Dalli's face is concerned, so worried for me. And yet, I can do nothing – I can only stare up at her with the ferocity of a kitten. Ironic, really… I was the fiercest victor that there was. Their spitfire. Their Eagle. And now… I'm caged. I'm a gun without a bullet, a fire with no air.

They gave me this infection, I'm positive.

I've been sick for the longest time. It's a bug, a virus, an illness, a disease, and I don't know what it is.

I just know that it's slowly killing me.

They can try all they want to kill me. I straighten my spine, stare Dalli right in her strange amber eye, and purse my lips. They can try to take me down, but I'll never consent. I have too much pride.

"Mrs. Hugh…?" Dalli's voice has a question in its tone. All I have to do is shoot her a look and she hushes up immediately, her eyes wide and scared.

At least I can still silence people with a stare. That's the one thing I haven't lost – fear factoring.

If only I could stare my tributes into winning.

"Go on, now!" I croak out angrily to our colorful escort, who's easily startled. "Take the children's names! What, do you expect me to sit on my rump all day and just take this?"

Blinking rapidly, the young woman dashes to the first bowl, clutching onto the microphone with sweaty palms. "Um…" she unravels the little slip nervously. She even drops it, which causes a slight murmur from the front of the audience, but then the name is called. "Devyn Aldion!"

A stricken cry emerges from the center of the female group. Two girls are quickly thrown into the clearing on the pathway up to the stage. They're identical – both have straight red hair, gangly limbs, small noses, and acne-smattered skin. The one difference is the color of their dresses – dark grey and navy blue.

The girl in blue seems to be shaking more. Her cheeks are already wet with tears, but she doesn't have time to cling to her twin for much longer. It takes a Peacekeeper to surge forward, flashing a taser, for her to even begin to walk up to the stage. And even then, the remaining twin in grey trembles, her knees weak.

"Devyn," the escort says warmly, welcoming the redhead to the stage.

Devyn takes one look at her and starts quivering once more, a fresh wave of tears emerging.

Obviously aware that she probably shouldn't provoke the girl any more, the escort moves to the second glass bowl, her lips pursed in worry. This time, she is much more composed and can unfold the paper without shaking terribly. "Silo Emmer?"

Unlike Devyn's spectacular waterworks show, the boy wastes no time in getting himself up to the stage. He's dressed in a white tank top that showcase his bulging muscles and heavy khaki pants. The most striking thing that he wears, however, is a stern glare that seems to outdo even myself.

Fascinating.

He steps onto the stage, puffy lips drawn in a pout, and immediately sulks to the back, near Dalli and I. He gives me one long, hard look before slowly swiveling his head back to the audience, huffing a small, definite sigh.

These two can't be more different. While Silo seems to be the stereotypical tough boy, Devyn's odd – her appearance completely contradicts my expectations for her.

Who knows, though? It's not like they're anything truly special. Probably just the same old kids with a death wish. I'd be lucky if they didn't jump off their plates.

_Please don't let them be loose cannons..._

* * *

**Serine Nevera, 19, District Eleven, Victor of the 105th Hunger Games**

* * *

_Pick the slip, pick the slip._

_So we can get over with this already._

I drum my hands against my thighs anxiously, feeling the faint sting against my bare skin. My creamy, papery dress flutters in the harsh wind, as does my hair – when I glance over to Hudson, the other mentor, he doesn't seem to be as phased.

"D-Do you know when they'll pick the names?" I speak up, my voice cracking slightly. God, why do I have to be so awkward? Hudson's perfectly fine with public speaking – wait, scratch that. I'm not even doing any public speaking, I'm just trying to talk to one person!

"Any time now," he says, gesturing to Billie. "See, she's stepping up to the microphone right now."

"Great!" I say, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. I stare at Hudson for a moment too long and he gives me a hairy eyeball. Cheeks burning with shame, I hang my head and eye up the escort, instead.

Maybe I'm too gawky as a person, but I can sure be observant when I set my mind to it. Such as now.

The escort – Billie, her name was? – is a lean, tall woman of perhaps mid-twenties. Starting from the head, her hair is blond with slim streaks of aquatic blue and lilac purple. Her skin is tan, almost matching the goldenness of her hair. A white bed with a watery circle of pale blue makes up her eyes, framed by the longest black lashes you've ever seen. A hooked nose over thin, pink lips completes her face.

She's wearing long, dangly blue earrings that match her spectacular metallic dress and thigh-high boots. Gee, Billie makes me feel like a _peasant_ in this plain buttery dress and sandals. Rounding out her outfit is a silly, improper but unique-looking purse of chains and tiny silver bells.

They jingle as she steps up to the bowls, drawing out two slips instead of just one. That way, she doesn't have to walk between two bowls. _Smart_.

"District Eleven!" she announces in a brilliant, rich voice. It immediately makes everybody's attention snap to her and the stage. "Your female for this year is Kiah, Kiah Devlan! Would the selected female please come up to the stage?"

A gasp comes from somewhere. It's hard to see at first. But then the girl emerges – perhaps smaller than the average sixteen-year old, but making up for it with a wonderful mane of hair, Kiah stumbles onto the path to the stage, tugging at her white blouse self-consciously.

It takes the poor girl forever. Her ankles keep locking, and she can't stop swaying, for the life of her. She seems to have difficulty mounting the stairs, thanks to the tears that blur her vision, and once she is able to stand up there, she can do nothing but try to breathe without shaking.

Poor girl. I was just like her, I think.

"District Eleven! Please stop your chattering and listen up!" Billie frowns at the masses of relieved girls, who have started talking excitedly. "Solari Cordova! Would the selected male _please_ make his way up to the stage?"

There's no motion, it seems – everybody has bated breath and clenched fists. But realization dawns on the majority that they and their friends are safe. Like with the females, chatter comes about, paired with anxious sets of eyes that search to try and pick out the mysterious Solari Cordova.

And then… a voice that overrides all the bumble.

"Solari! What the _hell_ are you doing, man? You've been _Reaped_!"

From the fifteen-year-old sector, a boy straightens up – though perhaps 'man' would be a better term. It's clear that this was Solari. With interest, I watch as a small dark-skinned boy with a frizzy head of hair talks to Solari quickly, a confused look on his face. Maybe they're brothers?

When Solari finally starts walking up to the stage, his head hung, I start to piece everything together. He must have thought he could escape by lying low, slinking through the groups until it all blew over. How do I pick that out? For starters, he is definitely not fifteen. He looks more like he's in his twenties.

But hey, looks don't determine everything.

I definitely proved that. I mean, look at me – scrappy, undernourished, fed up with life, and I made it out alive, didn't I?

* * *

**Destyn Odana, 21, District Twelve, Victor of the 102nd Hunger Games**

* * *

"Another year of mentoring, take six!"

Grey shakes her head at my enthusiasm, watching with hooded eyelids at the kids who file in late, getting a tap on the shoulder from Peacekeepers as punishment. "How can you be so upbeat about this?" she mumbles. "It's monotonous, Destyn. The same song and dance every year." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a plastic container and fork.

I roll my eyes and smirk. "Maybe for you," I say teasingly. "I happen to see this as a fresh slate. Think of life as a chalkboard! The tributes can be the chalk, and-"

"Your peppiness disgusts me," snarls Grey, popping the lid on the container. She peers inside, and a smile creeps up her lips.

"Whatcha got there?" I ask, trying to divert any unnecessary conflict.

"Cottage cheese and peaches," she says, sighing happily as she pops a peach wedge in her mouth, streaked with white curds. I watch with mild fascination and revulsion. I'm about to even make a snarky comment on how gross it appears, until I remember how tolerant she usually is of me.

_Sigh_. If only I could let myself loose once in a while.

"How's your life going, Grey?" I ask conversationally.

She looks at me suspiciously, her mouth chock full of cottage cheese. "Isth that a joke?" she lisps through her food.

I shake my head and shrug, acting offended. "Why, Grey! I'm offended that you would even think that of me!"

Grey shrugs right back at me and rolls her eyes creepily. "If you must ask, I'm doing dandy," she says, muffled. As she talks, tiny bits of white cheese and orange peach fly out of her mouth and onto her pressed black slacks. "Popped that terrible zit on my back. Finally was able to squeeze myself into that black halter top that I outgrew a couple months ago. Popped a button, but hey, you gotta suffer for beauty, right?"

She goes into a laughing fit, and promptly chokes on a peach wedge.

As I pound her back – which, may I add, is incredibly bony, no matter how many pounds she packs on – the escort, Velma, mounts the stage with teetering heels and a flashy new pair of sunglasses. She tips the pretentious shades and stares me and the gagging Grey down.

"You doing alright, _sugarbuns_?"

"Never better, _buttercup_." I make sure to lather on the sass.

Velma props herself on the microphone, smiling strangely down at the children. "Males," she breathes, as if expecting a volunteer. When the normal happens and not one word is uttered, she growls to herself and marches to the boy's bowl, pulling free a white piece of paper.

"Foster Carney! Get your carney-hiney up here!"

"That didn't even rhyme," Grey hollers angrily.

"Lick a duck," Velma leers back.

Up to the stage storms a boy with some serious veins on his arms. His appearance is neat, but his face is tomato red, like he's flying into a rage. And rage he might. He's nearly snarling with anger. He's like a tiger ready to pounce, but his hair isn't that orange.

"Hot," I deadpan. "That _is_ some manly rage."

"You can have him," snorts Grey, plucking a peach slice from her bowl and popping it into her mouth. "I don't like the fakers."

"Caleigh Herier!" The next name is called rather promptly.

Almost immediately, a girl with skin the color of creamy coffee comes up. She only makes a few steps before stopping briefly, like there's an invisible wall between her and the stage. Her lip quivers, tears brimming in her eyes, before she ducks her head and scurries up, her floral dress fluttering behind her.

"See," Grey says triumphantly, scraping up the last of the cottage cheese. "I got the better of the two. Jealous much?"

"If anything, I should be jealous of Foster's veins," I snigger. "Look at them _bulge out of his skin_! Oh, God, I wonder if he does _exercises_ to flex them!"

Velma pops up out of nowhere, giving my wrist a sharp tap with her long nails. I yip like a wounded puppy, then defensively grab my own wrist as she tears us a new one, yapping on and on about how we need to take this all more seriously.

Yeah, right. The day we take this seriously is the day she lets her eyebrows grow back.

Did I mention that her eyebrows are drawn on?

* * *

**A/N: The Reaping by the Tributes.**

* * *

**HAHAHAHAHA I'M SO UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THIS CHAPTER IT'S NOT FUNNY, NOT FUNNY AT ALL.**

**But hey, at least they're over. No amount of editing can change that! ;)  
**

**You know what else is over? Soccer. And so ends my soul. RIP in pieces to me ;/ Anywaaaaays, I've ranted for like twelve sentences already, let's get to the FUN of REVIEWING! ;) ;) Hey you should review, by the way! You! YOU! Yes, YOU!**

**Questions!**

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Which tributes stood out?**_

_**Overall favorite mentor?**_


	6. Body Electric

.

_**Heaven is my baby, suicide's her father. Opulence is the end.**_

* * *

**Silo Emmer, 18, District Ten Male.**

* * *

"You can't take me," I snarl at the Peacekeeper, glaring ferociously at the black helmet that shields his face. "You'll never take me from my home!"

The black material of his helmet glints impassively in the lights. My ears perk up as a voice sounds. "You will have two minutes for each person who comes to say goodbye. From there, you will join your district partner, mentor, and escort onto the train."

"N-No!" I howl out, swinging a fist towards the helmet. "I'm not leaving!"

Two more Peacekeepers rush in, seeing as the one I'm with is struggling. Together, grabbing my wrists and binding my arms to my sides, the detain me, and all I can do is growl out of the side of my mouth, trying to whip my head back behind me to send a scowl towards the trio.

I'm all but thrown into a small room in a hallway branching off of the main lobby of the Justice Building. The door slams shut behind me, and I'm left in the room alone. I dart to the door, fiddling with the doorknob and slamming my shoulder against it, but it's some metal, not flimsy wood. I could never break it.

A sigh huffs from my lips and I sink into an armchair in major defeat. If only I had laser vision or something.

Laser vision. I must be losing it. I've never been so childish.

The door opens and I'm on my feet within a split second, the hairs on the back of my neck raised. My hands ball into tight fists, ready to lash out at any Peacekeepers, or maybe even battle my way past them, to freedom.

But it's better than any sort of Peacekeeper – my mother and sister.

"Mom! Rye!" I croak out, running towards them and embracing them both. My mother, a frail woman of forty-two, and the most steely, gruff woman that I've ever known, has tears streaking down her face like a fresh rainstorm. Rye, my little sister, just a toddler, still, is standing stiffly, her expression confused.

"Silo?" she says in her hushed tone, and I bend on a knee to hear what she has to say. "Why did you walk up to the stage? What's going on, Silo?"

My shoulders sag with the realization that my sister has no clue what's going on. "I… I need to leave you, Rye," I say quietly.

Her eyes are wide, frightened. "No, you can't!" she protests. Her tiny arms reach for my neck, and I scoop her up, drawing her close to my muscly chest. "We need you here, Silo! Please, please stay! I… I'll miss you!"

Tears sting my eyes and I hug my little sister closer. "Believe me, I tried to make them let me stay," I whisper, burying my face in her black curls. They smell of baked bread and freshly cut wheat. A familiar, welcome scent. "I talked to them. I fought them. Rye, I… need to go…"

My mother stands by, her usually cold eyes softened. "Silo," she says, her voice cracking at first. She clears her throat, a fist brought up to her lips. "Whatever you do in there…"

"I'm going to get out of there." I straighten my spine and lift my head. "No matter what. I have too much to lose _not_ to come back."

Mother steps forward and brings her hand down on my shoulder. It's not hit hard enough to hurt, but the impact is there. I glance down. "What was that for?" I ask gruffly, hugging Rye's quivering form closer to me.

"You're getting cocky," my mother sighs. "Just like your father. You need to learn before anything else, that you can only trust yourself… but maybe, not even yourself if you're just going to be deluded as hell and a-"

"No need to use language," I say, recognizing the signs of her temper starting to flare. I bend down and hug her shoulders, forming an awkward sort of group hug. "Fine, Mom. I won't get cocky. I'll try my hardest."

She stares at me, tears swimming. "You need to come home," she says simply.

"I know."

"We cannot survive without you. Ever since your dad died…"

"I know…"

"Silo," she whimpers, arms squeezing Rye and I even tighter, "you-"

"I know," I say impatiently. "Do you have any real advice for me, now? Maybe a token or something?"

"I got something," Rye whispers in my ear. I turn my head to see her pull a bracelet out of the pocket of her gingham dress, dropping it on the top of my head. Her eyes sparkle with something other than tears. "A token… I made it myself."

My hand finds the bracelet and I dangle it in front of my eyes, examining the messy braids and unlooped strands of leather. It's more of a big circle of fabric and leather and metal hoops than anything. But it's my sister's. And I love it.

"Thank you, Rye," I say, kissing her cheek and watching as she offers a small giggle. "Really kind of you to-"

The door swings open, and the three Peacekeepers storm in. "Your time is up," one of them calls in a muffled voice.

"It's not been two minutes!" I holler angrily, and Rye clings even tighter to my neck, burying her face in my shoulder.

The Peacekeepers don't care. They rip Rye from my grasp, nearly tearing the bracelet, and they grab my mother by her wrists, whisking her away from me. One of them stands by me, locking my wrists in handcuffs in case I try anything, but unlike before, I am still. Stricken. In shock.

How could they do this to my family?

* * *

**Aegis Crowley, 17, District Three Female.**

* * *

"I can't stay long."

I melt into Trilliant's arms as she arrives, shaking my head and hugging her tighter. "You can't leave," I say softly. "I… I can't deal with this alone…"

"Aegis, listen to me, please," she says, stroking my hair and hugging me close. I hate breaking down like this – at least, I hate doing it in front of anybody but Trilliant. Crying, losing my temper, blushing, basically showing any sort of emotion that isn't deadpanned robotic motions.

But I can't seem to stop the tears that stream freely from my eyes right now.

"What?" I bark, biting my lip. I hate snapping at her.

Trilliant stiffens slightly. "It's not going to do you any good to push away the one person who doesn't push _you_ away."

I sigh. "I know," I murmur dejectedly. "I'm sorry."

She brings a finger up to my cheek and gently wipes away a crystalline tear. "There, there," she sighs, drawing me to her chest in a warm hug. "I can't stay long. There is a time limit on this sort of thing. Soon, your real family will come in. They'll want to say goodbye to you, too."

"I don't want to talk to them," I bite back. "I don't care about any of them."

"Not even your brother?"

I snort. "Half brother, you mean. He's not my blood. He's not my family."

"Aegis!"

I struggle from her grip, a fresh wave of tears impending. "You know my past, Trilliant," I say, my voice wavering dangerously to the edge. "You know how much I hate my parents, all three of them. And Brant. God, he's not my real family, he's a stepbrother."

"That doesn't give you any reason to push them away," Trilliant replies gently. "You treat me more like family than them, and I'm just a friend."

_Just a friend._ Those three words burn like acid on my skin. A protest slips from my lips as I stare into Trilliant's wise brown eyes, soft like a favorite blanket and warm like a sunny day. I could get lost in them any time. A tear streaks down my cheek, but it's not for the reason she thinks, most likely.

"I… I know," I say, securing the nails in my coffin, "but you're the exception."

Trilliant laughs, seemingly much more sage than her mere twenty years. "I'm your mentor, Aegis," she tells me. "And to be fair, who would expect our relationship as teacher and student?"

She rambles on about how I'm such a wild card, free like the birds with the fire of a tiger, while she's a much more calm person who owns a small bookshop, and how the circumstances we're in are very atypical, but I can only focus on what she declares our relationship to be. Teacher and student? Mentor? _Friend_? She honestly doesn't see us as anything else?

She's my world. Apparently, to her, I'm just another pupil in the long line of kids she's advised. I bet that's what I am to Trilliant – just a child. Nothing more. My misery fades into anger and I glower at her as she continues with her speech.

Trilliant notices my alarming glare quickly.

"Aegis…"

"No, no, I get it," I say angrily, marching to a chair and flopping down, glaring up from there. "So you can be the exception for basically everything in my life, while all I am to you is a student. I get it, truly. Honestly."

"Ae-"

I don't even let her finish my name, which sounds so beautiful on her melodic voice. "I give you all my time, all my attention. I've shared so many secrets with you over the years, and apparently all I am to you is a _student_. A child."

It's her turn to scowl at me, now. "Well, I can't deny the fact that you're being incredibly childish right now, Aegis! You've taken what I've said and blown it completely out of proportion."

I want to cry harder. It's not like I have anything to lose, since the tears are already there. So I let them slide down my cheeks like a slow waterfall, crossing my arms and shaking my head at Trilliant as she rants on about how stupid I'm being. She probably says other things, but I'm too blinded by my self-loathing to notice.

You know what really sucks? When somebody who is the light of your life, your heaven, paradise, and world rolled into one, completely dismisses you. It's happened before, this exact way. I've put up barriers, so many walls to keep people from getting to me. And every time, I grow soft, letting people beat the barriers down and enter my heart, and every single time, it winds up with me getting brutally stabbed in the back.

She's still ranting.

I stand up from the chair, and she gazes at me.

"Trilliant. I don't care."

The door swings open and a Peacekeeper pokes his head in the room and I'm not even flustered. I sink back into a chair and wave my hand dismissively at Trilliant, gesturing for her to leave the room. To leave me alone, to walk out of my life.

"Leave me alone."

She walks out without a single glance back.

I think the pounding sound I heard in my ears was the sound of my heart shattering.

* * *

**Sutter Pryce, 17, District Eight Male.**

* * *

"_Sutter!"_

Cornelia storms into the room, flame red hair flowing in her wake. Tears taint her big blue eyes and it's all she can do once she hugs me not to choke me. "I can't believe it!"

"Me either," I murmur, carefully putting my hands around her back to embrace her right back. It's hard not to press myself up against her, but I manage. "Are you alright?"

"Me?" she laughs hollowly. "Sutter, I'm not the one who was just Reaped for a death match. I mean, if I were in your spot, I'd be vomiting everywhere and shaking."

I shrug, pulling away from Cornelia. My fingers linger on her arm. "I dunno. I was always pretty calm."

"I know that much," she huffs. "You really couldn't be bothered, even back when we were dating."

"Hey…" I point a finger at her. "Don't bring that up."

"…Sorry."

Tension hangs high in the air. Cornelia stands awkwardly, sniffling and running her hand along the length of her arm. For a long moment we just stand there, four feet from each other and making some serious eye contact with the ground. It's so awkward. I hate the silence.

"So…" I begin.

"So," she replies.

"Doing anything after the Reaping?"

"No," she says cautiously. "Why are you asking?"

Everything in my mind tells me to shut my mouth right now, to prevent any future emotional damage. But I've never been one to dwell on what my mind says – I'm a very physical sort of person.

"Shame," I murmur, tucking a lock of hair behind her little ear and watching as she shudders under my touch. I love this – the feeling of power, the high emotions in both of us, the apprehension that we could possibly be caught. Everything about doing something risky appeals to me. "Looks like you need to fill up that time with something, huh?"

"I wasn't planning on it," Cornelia says, eyes swiveled up to me accusingly as I start to stroke her hair. And yet, she doesn't shy away. "Sutter, we broke up years ago."

"Only two," I muse, sighing and withdrawing my hand. I can't start anything now. It would be pointless.

She clears her throat. "You don't… you don't have to stop."

"Sorry." I smirk. "I probably shouldn't continue anything. I mean, we broke up years ago."

Cornelia's eyes glare at me, but I'm too distracted by the sound of the door swinging open. I turn on my heel to see a gaggle of girls my age, all of whom look vaguely familiar, as they storm into the room with tears quivering in their eyes and lips outstretched into cries.

"Sutter!" a blond whimpers, throwing herself at me and wrapping her bony arms around my neck. Oh, this one I remember. Her name's Kiera or something. Kiara? Tiera? "I just can't believe it!"

"Move aside, Susanna," snaps a redhead. _Susanna_! I wasn't even close. "I need to talk to him."

"So do I!" hollers a girl in overalls.

"Move over, loser!"

"Stop pulling my hair!"

Cornelia shrinks back as the mob of girls advance on me. A few of them are ones that I recognize from just last month – and then, slowly, I realize what all these girls have in common.

I played them. Too many nights spent with a bottle and a mattress and one of these very females each night, too many meaningless kisses given to girls who thought they were more than a stand. Nights spent with sweaty limbs, lust-darkened eyes, and whispered words of angst and need.

Fire flushes my cheeks and I back away. "I don't have anything to say, really," I call over the feminine screeches. "I don't know why I was Reaped."

"Why didn't you call me back?" whines the redhead from before.

"Hey!" snarls a dark-skinned girl with really long eyelashes. She was my most recent release. Ally. I chose her because she was fierce, passionate. She makes direct eye contact now, too. "You hooked up with me and told me you'd see me again. What happened to that, Sutter?"

"He did that to me, too!" a tearful brunette cries out. "And to think I came here to wish him well in the Games! I hope he drops dead right now!"

I look sideway at Cornelia, my heart pounding. I don't say anything to the angry gaggle of girls. If they'd calm down, I'd tell them all why I'm such a sleazy slimeball, but it doesn't look like any of them are in the mood to have a little chit-chat.

Looks like I'll need to sneak my way out of this, like a true slime.

"Peacekeeper!" I call out, hoping to the highest heavens that the room is being monitored.

A Peacekeeper pokes his head in, and I frantically motion to the mob of my past lovers, strategically keeping poor, frightened Cornelia behind me. He – or she – quickly gets the hint, and within a moment, Peacekeepers flood in, dragging out the feisty girls.

"That was scary," breathes Cornelia.

I guffaw. "Tell me about it."

She pauses for a second as the last girl exits, and the Peacekeeper taking her slams the door in his wake. "But really, Sutter? There were that many?"

"You know why I did it," I argue.

She can only shake her head. "I'm really disappointed. I thought this was an occasional thing, and even then I was hesitant… you _can't_ mess with people like that. Honestly. It's just not right."

I stare at the ground, but there's no acid crawling its way up from my stomach like there should be. I hate this part of myself. I know what I'm doing is terrible, horrendous, unheard of. Well, not unheard of, but very, very frowned upon. And yet, no matter how bad I want to feel, I physically can't force myself to feel remorse.

"I know I'm probably just being like this because I was the first girl you ever did this to, and I've known your tricks for a while…" Cornelia sighs. "Sutter, though… This doesn't justify it or anything like that. It's just terrible. Look how many there were! Over twenty! And I bet a bunch of the girls didn't even come to wish you well, just the most recent ones!"

"I know what I'm doing is terrible, and I'm sorry," I mutter.

"Sutter, that's not enough." She sighs, flipping a thin tendril of flame-red hair over her shoulder. "You're my best friend, and I really don't like this part of you, and I just wish you'd stop."

"Don't you see it?" I'm on the defense in a second, glaring angrily. "I physically can't, Cornelia! I don't know whether it's an addiction or not, but I can't live without it!"

"You've never tried." Her voice is venomous.

"You don't know what I've tried to do to stop this," I hiss, narrowing my eyes. "Honestly, I let you in on a lot in my life, Cornelia, but I hate this part of me. Don't you think that if I could stop, I would?"

She can only stare at me, lips set in a flat line. "In the arena," she begins, voice wavering slightly. "I just want you to think about this. All you've done to these girls. The filthy things you've done. And I want you to ask…"

"Ask what?" I ask my friend gently.

"Ask yourself if your life is even worth living after all the horrible things you've made those girls go through."

* * *

**Cerise Ramirez, 15, District Five Female.**

* * *

It takes a while for anybody to come in.

Not that I mind the silence that rolls in, no. I've grown quite accustomed to being on my own. Sometimes I even think it's better than having friends and people to hang out with. No secrets of yours are spilled – not that I have any juicy ones to spread. No feelings are hurt, because you don't have anybody to share feelings with. You never get hurt, since you never do anything but sit in your room, staring out at the district's bustling streets.

Yeah, the independent life must have been the one for me. I'm sure that if my parents hadn't been so binding, if I had different opportunities, then I definitely would have made some friends.

I mean, there's nothing wrong with me, is there?

I sigh. Of course there's something wrong with me. Everybody has a friend, be it a person you walk to school with or a group of people who know you, inside out. A stray cat or dog isn't the same. It's not a real friend. You can't exactly tell a dog your secrets.

The door opens, and I look up in surprise.

"Mom! Dad!" I rush to their sides, grinning. "You came!"

My mother raises her eyebrows, nodding grimly. "Of course we did, sweetie," she sighs. "You're our only daughter."

"Yeah, honey," my dad choruses after her. "We, uh, love you."

I give them a half smile. I know that I could do better, in their eyes, and in mine too. I'm not the perfect child – far from it. They always wanted a daughter who excelled in many fields, was ambitious, and had a lust for life. Me? I'm just Cerise the loner, who doesn't really have a lust for anything.

How much I long to tell them that it's pointless to pretend? That I know how disappointed they are in me, and they're not the only ones – I disappoint myself again and again.

"Thank you two…" I trail off. "For everything. The life you've given me."

My mother gives a creaky, hollow laugh. "Why, Cerise," she says. "You're not dead yet."

_I might as well be._

"I know," I sigh. "I just wanted to let you guys know that I really am appreciative. Through all we've been through."

"You make it sound like we're at a funeral," my mother says coolly.

"My funeral," I whisper to myself, trying to feel something. Anything. Regret, that I took out tesserae and am now paying the price? Anger, that my parents are being so chill about this whole thing? Sadness, that I'm going to die?

I just feel numb. I can't feel anything, no matter how hard I try.

"Well? Any words of advice we should offer her, Luke?" my mother glances to my father, who shrugs in his oversized jacket.

"Find water and food… um…. Listen to your mentor's advice, too." He nods. "Leif Bachiri, I heard."

"He's a feisty young one," my mother says. "He's so fiery each Reaping he attends. Brings something special to the district, really."

"I heard he impregnated Kassidy's granddaughter."

"No way? I heard that rumor, too!"

And just like that, I'm out of the picture. It's happened so many times that I don't even feel the sting of rejection. It used to be like a slap to the face, back when I was young and wide-eyed and all innocent. Now, it's merely like water sliding off a duck's feathers. Unaffected.

I prop myself up on a chair and force a smile, like the perfect little doll, listening quietly to their banter about Leif and the pregnant granddaughter. It's not even that interesting, but I cherish this moment. It will most likely be the last time I ever hear their voices, after all – even if they didn't treat me as family, they're all I've ever known.

I would never cut my roots free, no matter how badly I was treated.

It probably won't be long before the Peacekeepers come knocking at the door, anyways. I better try to make the most of this moment while I still can.

"Mum? Dad?"

My mother glances over, lips tight, and gives me a polite nod before turning back to my father.

There's a funky knot in my stomach, now. I can't quite describe the pain it brings, but it lingers for a while. It makes me taste salty tears, even if there's none in my eyes. It brings shivery gooseflesh on my arms. It's a familiar feeling – it comes every second that I'm not numb out of my mind.

"Cerise?"

My heart flutters, and I look up with sparkling eyes. Maybe I was wrong – maybe she does have some parting wisdom for me to have. Or my father. Maybe they decided that I'm worth saying goodbye to.

"Yes?" My voice is filled to the brim with bubbling hope.

"Do you happen to know where the restroom is?"

And just like that, my hopes have been dashed once again. The brief feeling of optimism is fleeting, and just like that, I know that it's just the same old song and dance all over again. My parents don't care enough about me to give me advice. Not really. To them, I'm just a burden – a parched water jug on a camel that is already loaded down.

Just as I'll always be.

* * *

**A/N: Body Electric by Lana del Rey.**

* * *

**The first round of tributes, gone! I hope you all enjoyed them as much as I did. :) And I tackled goodbyes, for once! My first time ever doing them in a story.**

**I'll be doing a different format from last time (though, to be fair, I do a different format literally every story I do, so…) For the first POV for each tribute (1,000 words) I'll do four tributes a chapter. For the second POV for each tribute (500 words) I'll do six tributes a chapter. That should even things out quite enough, and we should get to the Games relatively soon, which of course is what everybody loves most!**

**Questions~**

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Chart?**_

_**Who are you looking forward to seeing?**_


	7. This Wheel's On Fire

.

* * *

_**After every plan had failed and there was nothing more to tell,  
**__**you knew that we would meet again, if your memory serves you well.**_

* * *

**Arika Rillon, 15, District Six Female**

* * *

"You're littler than me!"

I can't help but exclaim in mild wonder at the little girl before me. Though thirteen, only two years younger than me, her wide eyes and small, gator-like front teeth give her an air of much more innocence – even though I personally watched her cut people open last year in her own Games.

"Don't misjudge me," Felicity sighs. "I wasn't supposed to be your mentor. I was only supposed to come along so I could see what it's like for next year… and then Dalton had to die."

Sensing that poor Felicity's feeling sad, I quickly adjust myself to her hip and wrap an arm around her tiny shoulders. "Don't worry, I would never," I declare, glancing up into the approving eyes of Gingham Cleaver, Felicity's companion mentor, a woman with flaming hair and a huge tunic. "I was just surprised at first."

A smile flickers onto Felicity's lips. "Well, that's good," she says softly. "I'm used to people underestimating me because of my age."

I poke her shoulder gently. "You proved them all wrong, though," I say. "You cut people open, even shed tears over it. You're not a monster, nor are you a weakling."

"That's supportive…" Gingham gives me a grateful smile, probably for boosting the spirits of the young mentor. "Arika, have you ever met Kyran?"

The lanky boy next to Gingham, my district partner, hangs his head, hands jammed in his pockets. I unloop my arm from Felicity's shoulders and stroll over to him, glancing up to meet his face.

His face is angled, with bushy eyebrows and a thin layer of blond hair on top of his head. There's a whisper of a mustache, marking him as an older boy, as if the height didn't set me off on that.

"I'm Arika," I say clearly, thrusting a pale hand forward. After a moment, a hand tanned to bronze connects, grasping mine warmly.

"Kyran," he mutters, his eyes swiveling upwards to mine, reminding me of the sad dog cartoons that they sometimes broadcast on the Square as a sort of daycare for the younger kids. "It's… nice to meet you, Arika."

"If only it were under other circumstances." I let go of his hand and sigh – the sigh's not necessarily miserable, just a little bit glum. "But we'll just have to make the best of this, won't we?"

"Such a go-getter!" Gingham smiles.

I giggle slightly. "Well, I came from Checkdamp. It's not exactly the best place to grow up."

"Checkdamp?" Felicity's small voice reaches my ears. I peer over to see her frowning. "How are you dressed so cleanly, then?"

I shrug. "Well, I figured that if my parents weren't going to help me, I had to help myself."

"Daddy problems, hm?" Felicity's frown grows deeper.

A chuckle emerges, though this one sounds rather fake. "Not really. They were just a little shocked after my brother died. And no, before you all ask, it wasn't because we lived in Checkdamp, it was because he decided to make a bunch of terrible decisions. It was all his fault."

_Oh, Peter,_ I lament silently as the other three swallow this information. _If only I could've heard your voice at the goodbyes. It would have given me a lot of encouragement, to be honest…_

"I have a brother kind of like that," Kyran volunteers quietly. As three pairs of eyes snap to stare at him, he shrinks under our gazes. "Uh, I mean, he's not _dead_ or anything… he just…" He trails off, obviously not flourishing under the limelight. "Oh, God," he mutters.

"Keep going," I say soothingly, patting a hand on his forearm. "Take your time."

"Um," he says, gazing down at my hand, "Kent's… he's very rude… and…. He makes bad decisions too. I just, um, made the connection with Arika's brother, and…"

"That's perfectly fine!" Gingham says jovially – perhaps a bit too cheerfully. And as I observe her more, it's obvious that Kyran's not at all what she expected. The lines in her forehead are stretched too tightly. Her smile is one hundred percent artificial. "It's good to make connections with your district partner, to build bonds, and maybe even _alliances_…?" She winks at him.

"Oh, God," Kyran repeats. He blinks a few times. "I don't even know if I want an alliance…"

Gingham utters a dramatic gasp, so I quickly volunteer my voice, the spotlight swiveling to me instead of my bashful district partner. "I personally think an alliance would be great!" I chirp.

"No trash-talking," Felicity says sarcastically.

I shake my head, painting on a picture-perfect grin. "I'm not one to flame people like that. It's just a personal preference. Who knows, maybe there's a couple girls my age!"

"That would be great," Felicity giggles. "You guys could have sleepovers and everything. Like a clique of the girls at my school."

"Exactly." I wink.

Kyran, meanwhile, is still fumbling like a bumbling, mumbling fool. "Um, I guess an alliance could be pretty beneficial," he says quietly. "You'd have somebody to watch your back and everything… to fight somebody with you…"

I see that he's struggling, and, like a five-foot-five superhero, swoop to his rescue once again. "No matter what happens in the arena, alliance or not, both of us are going to try our very best!" I announce. "No slacking for us, no sir! We're going to train until our hands fall off, and then we'll perform onstage until we lose our voices!"

"I'm sure they have pills to remedy that," Gingham chuckles.

I shrug, smirking. "Hey, I wouldn't know. But if I come back as victor, I definitely would!"

* * *

**Quentyn Allard, 18, District One Male**

* * *

The scene is pretty relaxed – Auriga and Lincoln are murmuring amongst themselves in some other cart, our escort is eyeing up the cutlery, and Pelly's stuffing his face with some delicious hot stuffed mushrooms. Me? I'm just sitting back, enjoying it all.

"So, Quentyn." Pelly swings his legs up to the table, nodding at me. "Tell me about yourself! This is the first time we've been alone in… well… forever, really. Never really talked to you in the district, either. So… talk?"

"Well," I say cautiously, "I'm not the boldest, and I don't stand out much in a crowd, which is probably why you haven't noticed me much."

"Awh, don't say that." Pelly waves me off with his hand, smiling. "I'm sure you're plenty special."

I blink. There's a long pause, and Pelly coughs, probably to encourage me or somehow make me feel better. I finally talk. "No, I literally mean that I'm just not the most noticeable. I stay under the radar pretty often, you feel me?"

"Well, that's alright," Pelly chuckles. "I'm not the most loud, either. I enjoy solitude, really!"

"Exactly how I feel," I say, relieved. "I don't do well with people."

Pelly's wide smile melts into a sudden frown. "Are you allying with the Careers, then?"

Wincing slightly, I shrug. "I think it would be the best decision for me," I say, almost robotically. "But social-wise, I really don't think it's going to be very easy."

"Nobody said it was going to be easy!" my mentor exclaims, raising his thin eyebrows. "By God's name, Quentyn, you're a District One citizen, born and raised. I'm _assuming_! And you don't want to ally with the Careers?"

Acid floods my chest, and I clench my fist under the table, really wanting to punch Pelly in his arrogant little nose, but restraining myself because really, who am I to question authority? "Fine," I growl out. "I'll join with the Careers. If it makes you happy."

Pelly sits back in his chair and stares at me for a long time. During that time, I count four stuffed mushrooms that are crammed into his little mouth. "Well," he says finally. "…Hm. You're a strange case, Quentyn, and I'm trying to figure out how to handle you."

"Just let me go on my own," I whisper to myself, but of course he doesn't hear me.

"So let me get my thoughts together," Pelly hums, eyes on the dish of hot – now warm – mushrooms. He stabs half-heartedly at one with a silver fork. "You're… quiet. I got that much. You _seem_ competent. I want to have faith in you."

"And you _can_," I say back, my voice edging on sassy.

He leans back, the mushroom impaled on the tines of the fork. "Prove it, then."

I sigh treacherously. "You know, I'm not liking your attitude, Pelly."

Pelly seems to be just another in a line of people who share his attitude that I've encountered. Outspoken, friendly, maybe a little cocky. I guess first impressions aren't everything – when he first won, Pelly was a shaky little twig with huge glasses and fluffy red hair, his face smooth and unmarked. Now he's a cocky little twig with giant glasses, big hair, and clear skin.

He frowns and blinks. "You don't like my attitude? Can I ask why?"

"You just did."

"… Huh?"

Groaning slightly, I shake my head. "Never mind. Forget what I said. Do you know where the desserts are? I've really been craving a good blackberry tart lately. They made the best ones at the Academy."

His eyes light up, youthful and icy blue. "You liked the fruit tarts, too? Peach was my favorite, but the blackberry were right up there!" Now that he's aware of something we have in common, he's a little more open, generous. "The desserts table was one car down. To the left, first table. I can't promise that there's any fruit tarts there, but there's an awful lot of others."

"Hey, thanks." I stride away from him, sliding open the door to the car containing the desserts and slump into a chair, happy to have gotten away from the pest.

A snort comes from the other side of the train car.

Auriga.

"You left your mentor, too?" she scoffs playfully.

I hesitate, wondering whether I should confide in her or not, when she rolls her eyes and smooths her skirt down, the black material ruffling. "I couldn't stand Lincoln for more than five minutes at most. She's past her prime, and she's only in her twenties, I think."

"Pelly was very loud," I sigh. "And I'm just… not."

"Lincoln was the _opposite_," Auriga replies, her eyebrows raising slightly. "She just wanted me to talk and talk about my life in District One, to try and size me up or something. I hated it! I just wish that I could have somebody louder to talk to, who I can actually have a conversation with, not just a rock for a mentor, you feel me?"

She's talkative, too. But for some reason, she doesn't remind me of Pelly. I nod, smiling slightly. "I get that. I'd love if we could switch, but…."

"They would give us a seven page list of reasons why not to," Auriga says, defeated. She glares at the ground. "Sometimes I just wish I was older. Eighteen would be nice. Or twenty. Yeah, twenty."

"Why twenty?" I furrow my brow for a moment.

Auriga looks at the ceiling briefly before swiveling her gaze to me, smirking. "Well, people would take me more seriously. And, legal ages, you know?"

She winks, and I mentally slap myself. Of course. Kids my age are so stupid at times.

Not that I'm the pristine needle in the haystack, oh no. I've done some incredibly idiotic stuff. I just try not to let people know.

The door slides open and in pops Pelly, his face full of confusion. He looks from Auriga, to me, to the dessert table. "Did you… did you find the tarts, then?"

I reach over and pluck the first dessert I see – some creamy puff pastry with sticky frosting. "I decided to try new things," I say, holding up the pastry. "First this, then maybe that good looking tiramisu."

Auriga sniggers. I ignore her, and follow Pelly back into the other car, where he's sure to irritate me once more with his childish ways.

* * *

**Jazzlyn Li, 17, District Two Female**

* * *

This place is spectacular.

I twirl about, feeling the taffeta of my skirt swish on my bare skin and my silky black hair fly about. I feel Corton's observant stare on me, but I don't care. Why should I? I _flourish_ in the limelight.

"Careful," he says, his voice teasing and playful. "You might get dizzy and upchuck. Right before dinner, too!"

Stopping briefly to flash him a grin and an eye roll, I continue spinning, loving the feeling of cold air on my skin. "I just _love_ it here," I drawl, tilting my head back. "The food, the people, the luxuries… even the Avoxes! They're so cute!"

He smirks – that much I can see through the mane of hair that flies in front of my face. "You know why they can't talk, right?"

This time I stop for good, feeling rather wobbly. Staggering over to a bench, I plop down and stare at Corton. "They don't have any tongues. I'm not a fool, you know."

"The Capitol cut out their tongues." Corton's eyes are strangely warm.

I don't know quite how to feel about Corton. Sometimes we hit it off all fine and dandy – we can uphold a great conversation about the most meaningless things. And we have a lot of similar interests, too. But other times, he's just _rude_. Cold and blunt. It's like he's got an evil twin.

"I know that much, too," I say, my heart sinking a little bit as I think about what the poor things go through. Imagine the fear in their hearts, cold like shards of ice, and the sweat beading on their foreheads as the sharp tool cranes inside their mouths.

_Snip snip._

I shudder. Corton notices.

"What was that for?"

"Just thinking about the Avoxes…" I frown. "Can you imagine what it would be like?"

"Imagine all the tongue blood you'd be tasting." Corton squelches up his face and his body gives a tremor. "Disgusting. The Capitol really sucks."

He says it so flippantly, I almost miss it. But my ear catches on. "You think that the Capitol sucks?" I blink a few times, curious. "Can I ask… why?"

He raises his bushy eyebrows. "You beg to differ?"

"N-Not necessarily…" I stammer, fiddling with the skirt of my dress. "It's just… you're from a Career district. I'd think that you'd be a little more loving towards the Capitol and how generally generous they've been to us."

Corton laughs creakily for a moment. "You're from a Career district, too, Jazzlyn. It doesn't matter what district we're from in the end. In the end, Jazz, all that matters is that you have motivation, a pointy weapon, and heaps of Capitol support to turn the tides in your favor."

My shoulders slump briefly. "The Capitol doesn't rig the Games, do they?" I guess I've never really considered the idea. I just thought that, naturally, the best fighter there is the one who makes it out. That's why I thought I was good to go to volunteer and all, with that sick roundhouse kick that I performed at the Reaping. "What about the tributes who don't have Capitol support, but can put up a mean fight?"

He shrugs. "Sucks for them."

He's so blunt. I hate it, but at the same time, it's alluring and mysterious. I myself have always been the compassionate type. I don't like to see the bad in people, which is probably why I'm hitting it off so well – at times – with Corton.

"I, for one, think that we'll get a lot of sponsors and support," I say confidently, standing up. The dizziness in my head is gone completely. "We're from a strong district and we're both cute and charismatic!"

Corton gives me a sarcastic look.

"Okay, fine, _I'm_ cute and charismatic. You can bring the intelligence to the table. You'd be good at that."

A smirk pops up on his face. "I can show the Capitol that District Two is to be taken seriously this year. We're threats, just like every other year."

"And I can flaunt the fact that we've got good looks and can be really, really nice!" I chirp.

Corton guffaws. "You're kinda an airhead. You know that, right?"

I sit down somewhat grouchily. The one thing that I absolutely despise is when people underestimate me, just because I like talking all positively. Being positive is not a curse. It's a golden ticket to happiness. "Please. I passed all my tests in school with flying colors."

"You can be school smart, and still not be too bright." Corton raises an eyebrow.

"Obviously, you've proved that!" I grin, happy to have gained a sort of advantage in the conversation.

He sniggers at me, but nods. "Funny. You're nice, but sarcastic. It's… weird."

"Didn't think that a girl with _this_ personality could be _this_ cute, hm?" I wink.

His smile drops and he shakes his head. "Nope, just didn't think that a girl who could perform that killer kick out at the Reaping could be so mentally incompetent."

I laugh off his jabs. If it's one thing I'm good at, it's seeing that people really don't mean what they say, half the time. Corton must be no different. He's probably just insecure or something. Nothing to get my panties in a twist about.

Honestly, sometimes people need to chill. Not everything is serious. I flash a smile at Corton once I'm done laughing, no doubt provoking some serious confusion in his blond little head, but I don't care. It's all in good fun.

For now, anyways.

* * *

**Solari Cordova, 18, District Eleven Male**

* * *

The spread in front of us is overwhelming.

Kiah breathes sharply from my side, eyes widening as she takes in all of the sights and smells to view – savory sauces, juicy hunks of meat, salty slabs of fish, fluffy buns and biscuits, boats of gravy, platters of vegetables and sandwiches, steaming soups of varying colors, and pitchers of more beverages than we could ever ask for back in Eleven.

The daily breakfast tart that we were assigned daily doesn't even measure up to one of these items.

I glance over at Hudson and Serine, who are each scouting up the food with predatory looks. "C-Can we have a little?" I ask softly. I barely hear myself, but somehow Hudson does.

He nods, puffy lips stretching into a wide smile. "It's all for you, Solari – every single thing on here! And there's still desserts!"

Taking a breath and clutching to the edge of the table, I decide to wait until my district partner has had a nibble. But she, too, is in awe – her eyes scan every item individually for a long moment, her weary lips parted slightly. After a moment, a trembling hand reaches up and plucks a single hard biscuit from a plate.

Our escort guffaws. Her name's Billie, and she's by far the most irritating person I've ever met, with her unnatural blond hair and dangly blue earrings. "Come on, kid!" she barks. I can't tell if she's trying to be abrasive or if it just comes naturally. "Take heaps! Slather some butter on that piece of bread, swallow down some chicken breasts like they owe you money! Steal the gravy boat! Honestly, every year it's just the exact same, two kids who can't know a pork butt roast from a porterhouse."

"What are those?" Kiah asks me rather loudly. I shake my head.

Billie must not have heard us, because she pipes down pretty fast, tutting and pulling a greasy sliver of fish onto her own plate, coating it with some chunky white sauce soon after. Kiah and I, however, aim for the more tame looking food items. She tries a small round circle of meat on a bun. I choose a bowl of creamy soup with potatoes.

Serine's staring at me, though. Not Kiah, who she's supposedly mentoring. Me.

I look up a few times from my soup in confusion, but her gaze never wavers. Eventually, I decide to do something I almost never do – speak up.

"Do you n-need something?" my soft voices catches and my chest tightens.

"Not really." She shrugs, her piercing eyes never leaving me. "Just decided to try and size you up. I've already done Kiah."

"Well, okay…" I smile shyly, peering bashfully from behind my bowl of soup. "Size up away, then…!"

Hudson hums. "Why don't we play a game?" he says good-naturedly. "To try and get to know one another better, you know?"

"Sounds fun," Kiah says gamely. I nod quickly in agreement.

"Hm… a question game, how about." Hudson raises a thick eyebrow. "Um… Kiah. Favorite memory?"

Kiah's cheeks heat up and she stares at the table, shoulders slumped. Serine's expression goes from analytical to panicked, and she's about to soothe Kiah when the girl speaks up, in not a trembling voice, but one with verve and confidence.

"It was before I was twelve – probably eleven. Before my mom died. We were all gathered at the table around the holidays, when it was snowy and we didn't have to work. Everybody got each other a sort of present, no matter how small. My brothers gave me a tin of cookies, a rock shaped like a heart, and a yarn headband, and I got a sweater from my parents. We were gathered around the table, the house all warm from the fireplace, eating groosling and rice and fruit sauce, and… and everything was so happy." Kiah's eyes well up in tears and she sniffles. "And then about a month later the disease came and we lost my mom. And every holiday after that's been a lot less nice."

I wrap an arm around her shoulders, and she pushes me away, her eyes drying up quickly. "I don't need to be pitied for it, though," she says. "I mean, a lot of other people lost their parents, too. I'm fine."

Unfortunately, I can't sympathize. Coming from a large, jovial family myself with six kids and supportive parents, there hasn't been much poverty in my life.

Unless you count the bullying.

"Solari, I'll ask you the opposite," comes Hudson's voice. "Least favorite memory?"

My throat constricts, but I don't let it show. I even offer up a grim smile as I start talking.

"W-When I was littler, I-I was kind of, um…" I stare at the table. "Scrawny, you k-know? Not as muscled since I-I didn't work in the fields yet… and, in school, um, th-the kids there… they'd mock me and t-tease me and call me Stuttering Solari. They'd t-take my books and stick things on my b-back and g-gossip about me to no end, and I-I could never say anything in m-my own defense…"

It's true – it was terrible. I was the reject of my class, spat at and left out. Nobody wanted to be friends with the skinny boy with the well-kept clothes and self-imposed scars and the dreaded stammer. The one whose nose was always buried in a book to block out the real world. The boy who would gladly volunteer in class to try and make a friend in even the teacher.

"I-It got better, though," I say a bit louder, not caring if Hudson or Serine's started to try and comfort me. "I-I went to work in the f-fields, to support my f-family… I-I never made a good friend, b-but it was all good… I-I mean, I had my siblings."

Kiah hesitantly slides a hand onto my arm. My soup sits, forgotten. "It'll get better soon," she says gently.

A weak smile makes its way to my lips. "I-I sure hope you're r-right."

* * *

**A/N: This Wheel's on Fire by Siouxsie and the Banshees.**

* * *

**Alright, after a mini-hiatus involving me going on vacation and a rewrite of one of these characters a few times, a chapter is out! As always, reviews are definitely appreciated – they let me know who's reading, and they keep me motivated. I was pleased at the amount for last chapter – if only we could keep that consistent throughout this story!**

**And hey, if you're looking for a cool new artist, I definitely recommend Sioxsie and the Banshees. It's a very old group, but the music's so haunting. Baaaaabe.**

**Questions~**

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Chart?**_


	8. Runaway

.

* * *

_**You've gotta know that this is real, baby, why'd you wanna fight it?**_

* * *

**Eilat Closeau, 16, District Seven Female**

* * *

I move away from the window.

"So many Capitol citizens!" I squeal, balling my fists up in glee. "And they're for me, me, me! All me!"

Codee coughs awkwardly from his spot at the table. A ham and cheese sandwich sits in front of him, untouched. While I've been flourishing so far, bathing in the attention and lathering myself in compliments from Obsidian and Kaniva, Codee's been shrinking. He's eaten, like, four bites of food and I heard him crying in his room last night. Softly, but still tears.

And I have a feeling that they weren't crocodile tears.

"Well, and you," I say dismissively. "But to be fair, you haven't been hamming up the limelight much. You're like a shadow, kinda."

He stares at me, lips pouted into a frown. "There haven't been any cameras on the train – that we know of."

"Your point?"

"I have the chance to make a fresh start, just like you."

Snorting and rolling my eyes, not caring if I come off as rude, I flock to the window once more, taking in the vivid colors that the Capitolites are clad in. "_Uhm_," I say appreciatively. "I love all the clothes here. I _love_ fashion, you know."

Codee smiles dryly.

The train halts suddenly, and I can feel the motion fading fast. I gasp slightly. "Are we stopping? Like, to get off the train?"

"That's why we aren't moving," Kaniva says, gathering her hair up into a ponytail.

"_Darn_," I whine. "I didn't have time to do my hair or anything. And I'll be thrown out into the middle of the crowd with no makeup on, and no clothes but these ugly rags! It's just like my fifteenth birthday all over again!"

I can almost hear my stylists – I met them a few hours ago – dissolve into tears.

"Be patient, kid," grumbles Kaniva. She's obviously not the happiest that Obsidian's in another car. "We're not just gonna throw you out into the center of the crowd looking as ugly as you do right now. You'll go through another car, one that's currently parked inside a _building_. Ooh. Sound good, princess?"

Well, now I don't have anything to be dramatic about. I pout. "Fine," I say dismissively.

True to her word, we're lead a few cars down, which is situated in a sort of tunnel. From there, we board a capsule-like train, which has thick seatbelts that nearly suffocate my boobs, and it shoots us at a really fast speed upwards.

And then… we're ushered out of there, and Codee and I, Kaniva and Obsidian, we're all split up. Except Codee and I are taken with three different people each – the prep team that I mentioned previously.

"You guys ready to make me up, or what?" I grin at them – a man with purple curls, a silver-skinned woman, and some kind of person with funky red glasses and yellow hair. "I'm ready for my makeover," I purr dramatically.

I can hear Kaniva groaning behind me.

The lady with silver skin smirks. "Yeah, we're gonna do you over," she scoffs. "You sure need it, girl-baby."

I wince. "That was a sick burn. I respect you."

"Okay," she says.

They get to work pretty fast after I strip down, rubbing lotions and potions over my skin and hair. After that, I'm slid into a big tub full of flowery-scented water, with loads of bubbles. It feels so luxurious. I feel like I am a queen!

"This is great!" I cackle. "Even my boyfriend doesn't treat me this well!"

The woman frowns slightly. "You aren't uncomfortable at being so exposed in front of us?"

_Well, when you put it like that._ To be fair, I'm fine being like this in front of them, especially since they don't seem much like humans at all. Although, I suppose they must be, under the caked-on makeup and wigs and fake nails. But she asked, so.

Seeing this as an opportunity to slide my way into the limelight once more, I shriek dramatically, throwing my hands over my exposed chest and sliding into the water. "You're right!" I trill painfully. "I… I'm so embarrassed! I haven't been this ashamed since I was found hooking up with my sister's best friend's boyfriend!"

A lie, of course.

The woman sees right through my disguise with those beady emerald green eyes of hers. She raises what would be her eyebrows, had they not been shorn off, and scoffs. "Grow up, Closeau."

The two men on my team – rather, the man and the unidentified human – share a look and snigger to themselves, lathering my hair in slimy shampoo and trimming my softened nails.

Grumbling slightly to myself, I go limp and allow them to work the rest of their magic. I can only hope that the other Capitolites – and the tributes, for that matter – aren't as sharp as this lady. I mean, life is boring without drama. If I can't ham it up a little bit, what's the point of being thrown into the spotlight?

The attention that they give me, despite being comfortable and soothing at first, quickly turns painful. They strip out my arm hair, causing goosebumps to sprout up like weeds, and they shave my legs before applying some hot wax to pluck out the roots of the hair. The razors weren't bad. It's the boiling, bubbling, brown stuff that makes me yowl.

But, I suppose, in the end, it's all for a reason. Standing in front of a full-sized mirror, sizing up my naked body and the new smoothness of my skin and the shininess and luster of my chocolate hair, the new length of my eyelashes and neatness of my brows, I feel reborn. I look like the princess my mother used to say I was.

Until she started treating me terribly.

I shudder, not wasting a second of thought on my past. Instead, I glance over my shoulder in the mirror into the green eyes of my stylist, and I give a small, grateful nod. This is my future. There's a reason I am here.

And I won't waste any more time feeling like a worm in the Capitol. Here, I can blossom from an ugly little caterpillar into a full-fledged butterfly.

I will spread my wings. I will fly.

* * *

**Demetrius Blair, 17, District Nine Male**

* * *

"Demetrius, you need to take your shirt off."

Hugging my t-shirt tightly to my chest, staring blearily up into the eyes of the three women that make up my prep team, almost undistinguishable – they all have purple hair and nearly identical sculpted features – I shake my head once more, well aware of the crimson color that my cheeks are.

"Let me try, Saffa," says the lady in the middle. She steps forward, her big eyes beseeching. "Demetrius, if you-"

"I won't," I say gruffly, biting my lip as her face twists in anger. I'm usually not a person who likes conflict or drama. If the world could be rid of one evil, I'd pick controversy to take a hike. But I can't take my shirt off. If I do, they'll see my scars. "Look, you already charmed the pants off me. Why do you need my shirt off, too?"

"So we can bathe you," says one of the women, like it's just that simple.

Biting my lip even harder, clutching my shoulders so I'm hugging myself, I shake my head once more. I wish I'd gotten Kelsier's prep team. Two women who squealed over her attractive looks and a man with wise brown eyes holding up a black bag containing her outfit for the chariot ride. Instead, I'm stuck with the perverted trio of women who look exactly the same.

But it looks like I have no choice. The Capitol wins. They always win.

"Fine," I begrudgingly say, slowly ducking out of the grey shirt, wincing slightly as they stare at my newly exposed chest. _Please don't make remarks… please…?_

"See, that wasn't so bad," says the one from the middle finally, shrugging to herself and motioning towards the tub. "Now hop in the bath. We're already behind schedule from your little tantrum."

Without another word, I sit like a buff rag doll as they massage shampoo and conditioner and numerous other gels into my hair, pouring tonics into the tub at times, lathering my hands up with smelly lotion, the works. One of the women even orders me to open my mouth so she can pour some strong-tasting liquid into it – apparently I'm supposed to swish it around for temporarily white teeth.

It's done quickly. I'm almost numb to all the pain that comes when they slather wax over my legs and arms. There's too many thoughts running through my mind to pay attention to reality at the moment.

How Kalen is faring. How Everly, my mother, is dealing with my Reaping – if she even paid much attention. Scratch that. Of course she'd pay attention. I guess the one I need to worry about most is my father. How he's doing right now, with his bouts.

"And you're nearly done!" A cheery voice interrupts my thoughts, a hand shoving a hanger under my nose. "Sliiiiide this puppy on, and we'll do your makeup and hair!"

I stare at the outfit. It's a slim-fitting golden jumpsuit with glittery things that resembles grain. On the floor are strappy sandals with brown and golden splashes of color. Behind the woman with the jumpsuit, her triplet holds a headdress of grain stalks, grinning.

Cute.

"Your main stylist has a fever, so we get to play that role. Exciting, no?" One of the ladies winks.

I sigh heavily, sliding the outfit on, and examining myself in the mirror. I don't look too bad, just minorly ridiculous. But I can deal with that. If Kelsier's clad in the same thing, I think we'll be fine. If you have somebody to be ridiculous with, somehow, it's not as bad.

It takes a long time for them to do my hair, apply makeup, with brushes tickling my skin and powder getting in my eyes and nose. The hair gel that they slather on, sealing with heat, makes my head feel stiff, my hair plastered into a high style. When they're done, I can barely recognize myself. But not in a good way.

Golden powder radiates from my eyes, and illuminates my cheekbones. My lips are lightened with some nasty-tasting powder, my eyelashes darkened and trimmed to seem more masculine. My eyebrows are dark, too, and shaped in an unnaturally perfect arch.

"You can go now…!" one of the women is beaming so widely, I'm wondering how her lips haven't split yet.

"We did _such_ a good job!" another says tearfully, her eyes watering up with glee.

"Thanks," I mutter, exiting the room into the long hallway.

Kelsier's waiting for me a few doors down. She's in an identical outfit, but her makeup is even more caked on than mine. There's some dark eye shadow accentuating her eyes, though, and somehow her nose seems more sculpted. She's striking. But it's just so unnatural.

She raises her eyebrows when I walk to her, staring at the powdery mess on her face. "I know," she says, as if that helps anything. We begin walking.

"I think you look really pretty, actually," I say, trying to be cheerful. "I love your hair." With the prep team, I didn't bother. Here, though, I actually like Kelsier. She's witty, snarky, and somewhat blunt, though it's charming on her.

"Please," she snorts, turning a corner. "I feel like a cow about to be paraded around so she can be auctioned off, sold, and slaughtered."

I swallow thickly, trying to come up with a smart response. "But you actually volunteered for this, you know."

Kelsier pauses briefly, her eyes flickering over me, as if trying to come up with what to say. For her, that's a big deal. I didn't think she thought much about her words before she said them. I didn't think she thought much at all.

"Oh hey, you're right," she says briskly, a smile playing on her darkened lips. She links her arm with mine awkwardly.

"Now come on, Demetrius. Let's go show 'em all what we're made of."

* * *

**Jada Paquet, 18, District Four Female**

* * *

Showtime.

Lifting my head, straightening my silky dark hair, I glance over at Ayden from the corner of my eye, never once moving my head for fear that my silver crown will topple. "Which district should we tackle first?"

"District?"

"One or Two?"

"Why?"

"Why?" I stare blackly ahead, noticing how District One already has some companionship going on – Quentyn says something and Auriga lets loose a banshee-like laugh. District Two is a little more believable, with Jazzlyn and Corton having a nice conversation. Jazzlyn Li, though, looks a little heated. Or maybe it's just the heavy battle helmet that she was supposed to wear, which lies neatly on her lap at the moment.

"Yeah."

I shrug. "Because it's tradition to team up with them. We make a team. You know." I poke his side a grin lilting on my lips. "The _Careers_. Don't know if you've heard of them…"

Ayden stares ahead, apparently with loads on his mind. I sigh, getting off the seat of our chariot. Looks like I'll have to face the masses myself.

Not that it's a problem. I'm the most independent person I know, not to be arrogant or anything.

District Two looks promising, I decide.

Strutting over to Jazzlyn and Corton, sticking my chest out that much further, I plaster a welcoming grin onto my face. It's not forced, not one bit. "Hey, you guys," I say when I reach them, radiating kindness. "How are you two doing?"

Corton stands up when I approach, a lopsided smirk on his lips. "I'm Corton," he says.

I play dumb and pretend I didn't know about them before. Like I didn't do my research. "That's a cute name!" I chirp. "I'm Jada Paquet, District Four. It's really nice to meet you. I _love_ your makeup."

It's nothing special, just like last year – dark, oil-like eye shadow stemming from the corner of his eyes, almost red like blood. Glittery and shiny when it catches the light, too. But nothing new.

He raises his eyebrows slightly, never breaking eye contact. With one finger he reaches up to my face, almost like a wizard raising his wand. I try my hardest not to wince as he traces across the arch of my eye, no doubt smudging my aquamarine eye shadow. I grit my teeth.

"Teal," he says, nodding to himself.

Jazzlyn gets up, now. My heart floods with warmth. A girl helping a fellow female out of a sticky situation. I like her already. "Leave her alone, Cort."

He steps away, hands raised in defeat.

She smiles at me and offers her hand. "My name is Jazzlyn Li," she says. "You can call me Jazz, though. I never liked the 'Lynn' bit. Seemed a little too pretentious for my likings."

I laugh stupidly, batting my lashes, shaking her hand with vigor. Putting up the perfect mask. "It's such a pretty name!" I gush. "My name is nothing close to yours – just Jada. You can't even make a stupid _nickname_ off of that."

"Jade?"

Shrugging, offering another silly grin, I let loose a small giggle. "I suppose so, but I never liked that gem too much."

Jazzlyn smiles. "I think I like you better than Auriga. I mean, she's nice and all, but she was kinda forced."

"I've not met her yet!" My curiosity is perked. "Where did you meet her? Did you have some time after the train rides or something?"

"Nah." Jazzlyn shrugs. "One and Two were the first districts out, so we chatted for a little bit. Corton creeps Quentyn out, I think – he only smiled and _bam_. Quentyn was fidgety and all uncomfortable."

Corton shoves her shoulder gently. "Hey, I'm still here, _Jazzy_."

She rolls her almond-shaped eyes. "I told you, just 'Jazz' will do!"

As the two of them start bickering like siblings separated at birth, I glance back at my chariot, seeing Ayden – _gasp_! – striking up a conversation with Quentyn, who I suppose wandered over there. Taking a long look at them, chatting amiably as they come, I decide that they're good for now. Maybe Auriga is the one who needs somebody to talk to right now.

But it looks as if she's found somebody, too.

Demetrius Blair and Kelsier Arkell hover around the District One chariot, grinning as Auriga tells a story. She's bewitching even from here – her hands move mysteriously, her facial expression devoid of any happiness. She looks rather sleepy, and yet, the two from Nine can't look any more entranced.

No fair. I pout slightly. I take pride in being the mysterious one, the girl that keeps everybody guessing. I guess it was a bit spoiled and oblivious of me to assume that I wouldn't have to work to get at that position here, but apparently, I got some competition with little miss Lefleur.

I inhale slightly, wishing I had some water to sip quickly. My tongue is dry. I haven't put on such a façade for so long – maybe I'm a little rusty.

No worries.

I'll do fabulous. I just need to have a little self confidence.

And as I begin to walk over, staring at a spot just above the trio, I can already feel Kelsier and Demetrius's eyes on me, thus tearing them out of their Auriga-given trance.

I can regain the power I was so hungry for at home.

All I need to do is give myself some faith, and hope that my jealousy isn't the bane of my existence.

* * *

**Foster Carney, 18, District Twelve Male**

* * *

Coal dust.

Next to me, Caleigh coughs on the dusky powder as some falls out of her hair, thus annoying me further, and I shoot her an irritated look to let her know.

"I'm sorry that I can't control my throat," she growls out to me.

I don't reply – rather, watch as the very first chariot pulls out. The girl in a skimpy dress with huge wings and a golden crown radiating light, and the boy in similar getup. Angels.

Caleigh and I don't speak as the second, third, and fourth chariot pull out. To be fair, we don't talk after that, either. It was quickly determined on the train ride that I wouldn't be allying with Caleigh, not when it was so hard just to act civil to her. She's complex, and it's annoying. Half the time the girl's a nervous mouse, and the other half, she's scoffing out something half-witted and sarcastic. She's made it known that she doesn't find my presence the nicest, either – it's not that hard to realize, when a girl turns her nose up as you try to make small talk at dinner.

To be fair, I was inwardly glad that she had done that. It meant I didn't have to make small talk with bad company such as her, Destyn, and Grey. People suck. And I don't want to waste any more time than I have to with people like her.

District Eight pulls out of the garage into the limelight, the littler girl looking overwhelmed yet peppy, and the boy looking awe-struck, eyebrows raised in delight at the sights. Kaori and Sutter.

"Should we work a joint angle?"

I'm surprised when Caleigh talks to me, and I turn to her. "What do you mean?"

She points a finger to District Nine. Demetrius and Kelsier have joined hands and are now waving in near-perfect unison. They both look ecstatic – Kelsier, perhaps, a bit more.

"Why work a joint angle if we're never going to ally?" I grumble. "It's clear that those two are going to join the Careers or something like that."

Caleigh twists her mouth into a sort of pucker. "We could just work the angle and figure out alliances later," she says thoughtfully. "Because, who knows, Foster? Maybe we will wind up being allies, if the stars align or whatever." I must look doubtful, because she sighs. "Let's just try, okay? It's clear that we can't stand each other, but this is for your well-being as much as mine. Get that through your skull, maybe?"

She looks expectantly at me. I stare at her, negative blood streaming through my veins. People like her are the worst kinds, the sort who expect you just to traipse behind them like a mindless puppy. Arrogant. Even the achromatic people who are dull and boring as all get-out are better.

As soon as she turns back, grumbling, though, I grab her hand. Her chocolate eyes light up.

"You mean it?"

I glare. "Don't make this weird," I hiss. "But you're right. We don't want to be sponsorless in the Games."

Caleigh nods, smirking slightly, as the chariot in front of us pulls out. Both Kiah and Solari look startled by the deafening applause.

Why be dressed to the nines if you can't handle it, really?

Sometimes just existing is tiring.

Our chariot pulls out in all good time, and we're jerked forward briskly. I grip Caleigh's hand tightly, not caring how sweaty my palm is. She's probably grabbed worse moist things.

Cheers erupt from every side. I tilt my head back and I get an earful of shrieks. I turn to one side and there's numerous banners, waving and flashing and blinking at me. It's like a festival. And the attraction to this sick party, is us tributes.

Disgusting.

Caleigh's trying hard, I can see. A real smile alights her face, and she even bounces up and down a couple times in glee. "Foster, they love us!" she giggles girlishly and says something else, but it's drowned in the cheering of the crowd.

Not wanting to spark any controversy but also feeling very tired of this already, I lift my head and shoot a couple smiles in the general direction of the audience. The distance from the chariots to the people is rather far, so I can't see anybody in particular, but the flowers that they chuck at us don't go unnoticed.

We take a sharp turn to the right and I find our chariot in a semicircle, next to the duo from Ten, Devyn and Silo. Dressed as seductive farmers, they're both grinning wildly, though Silo's smile is noticeably more muted. His hands are shaking, too, while Devyn seems to be at ease.

If this year were like the previous years, our president's hologram would pop up near the podium and would give a recorded speech. Ever since the Quarter Quell, it's been the natural thing. Safety is needed, so they don't send the actual person in. I have to begrudgingly admit, it makes sense.

But this year, there's not even a hologram.

Just a small box on the podium.

We wait for a while – a minute passes. The crowd cheers on. Another minute dissolves, and we tributes are looking around. What's going on, really? Is it a joke? Or is something sinister going on?

Finally, an enormous screen behind the podium lights up. It flashes black and grey a few times before we see a clear image – the president herself, with purple bags under her eyes, badly concealed by makeup, and a weary smile.

"Panem… happy Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor, tributes."

And without another word, the screen flickers off.

"That's it?" I grumble as our horses take off for the garage, going up the runway instead of down. The crowd applauds on, but their cheer is clearly dimmed. Not even a real speech like they were hoping for.

Caleigh sniggers, dropping my sweaty hand. "Sometimes you gotta do what the crowd needs, not wants. She was only looking out for 'em."

I sigh as the horses pull up into the garage, and Destyn and Grey dash over, beaming. Either it's what Caleigh said, or it's something selfish. A reason that she wanted to do a simple sentence or two instead of a hologram.

Whatever the reason, I couldn't care less. Why should I?

* * *

**A/N: Runaway by the Killers.**

* * *

**Another four POV's kicked out. I did Eilat's over a period of time, and finished hers and completed the other three in a day. Does it show? Yikes. Guess I just got busy.**

**I'm writing a summer essay for school. Pray for me, fam.**

**I think that's all for this sweet little author's note. Stay fresh and go to Starbucks. That's all.**

**Question time, yoooooo.**

* * *

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Chart?**_


	9. Catch Us if You Can

.

* * *

_**We are the wild, we are the reckless.  
**__**Set every mile, they'll never catch us.**_

* * *

**Klaus Gaveston, 18, District Three Male**

* * *

Hopping off the chariot after Aegis, there's almost immediately a voice at my side.

"H-Hi!" I turn around, eyes lolling about lazily, to find the black kid from Seven, with puffy lips and afro and a tree fairy costume sprouting wings out of his back. "My name is Codee! Do you–"

"Forget it, kid," I sigh. "You'd be messing with the big kids if you were to talk to me. I don't think you're ready to advance from building blocks to, all of a sudden, metal cranes and mortar."

He, however, looks fascinated. "You look really interesting," he giggles to himself. "Do you think that maybe you'd like to be all-"

Knowing immediately what he's going to say and not wanting to be _too_ rude to such a little kid, I promptly turn around. I hear the confusion injected in his voice as he taps on my back repeatedly, no doubt fluttering those huge wings of his as he does so. "Um, m-m-mister District Three? Wait, you're not a mister yet, you're only, like, sixteen! But, uh, d-do you think that maybe you could turn around and, um…"

He's stopped himself briefly, and I care enough to glance over my shoulder to see him. There's the petite blonde from Six, her icy blue eyes staring up at me in confusion. She's laid a pale hand on the Codee's shoulder. "Maybe he's not the best choice for an ally for you," she says, never breaking my gaze. She tilts her head, sizing me up, before finally deciding I'm not worth her time. She slips her hand into the boy's, and smiles. "I'm Arika. Why don't you talk to me, instead?"

The two littler kids lead themselves away, and I slouch onto the floor of my chariot, watching the tribute population mill about and mingle in the spacious garage, almost like it's some big birthday party.

Back in Three, I most definitely would have been the one to throw the biggest and the best parties. Alcohol sloshing, kids getting dizzier and dumber, a thin film growing on the floor from vomit and sweat and spilled food items… Ah, yes. That's where I felt most at home.

And to think, I never touched a single bottle of liquor, never spent a single coin on all the festivities. A few well-placed lies were all I needed to seduce people into basically throwing the whole thing together for me.

If only I had the edge and reputation that I had back in the district, back here.

Another person approaches me. Instead of Codee's gentle nervousness, she radiates exuberance, a white smile playing on her glossed lips. I straighten my spine, smirking already. She should be fun.

"The name's Devyn." She places a hand on her hip, supposedly to look mature or in control. Duly noted. "District Ten. And I'm assuming you're from Three, with that outfit?" My smirk hardens.

"Honestly, my dear, what gave it away?" I raise an eyebrow, reaching down and pulling a colorful wire free from my thigh. "I could have flaunted how good I was at making predictions, too, but your introduction took that chance from me, clearly."

Devyn snickers. "You're _funny_," she drawls. "Anyways, I'm just here for some idle chit-chat. I'm trying to touch upon almost everybody here but the Careers."

"And why not them?" I raise a sculpted brow.

Her confident exterior never wavers, not once. No matter how much I observe her, searching for a crack in her smile or a glint in her eye, the façade she's putting up is top notch. "Too pretentious for my taste."

"You're calling them pretentious."

She raises her red eyebrows, no doubt darkened with pencil. There's no way a girl with that color of hair can have such dark brows. "I'm just being honest, District Three."

"Oh… right." I stand up almost reluctantly and give her a sleazy smile. "You haven't had the pleasure of learning my name quite yet."

"I could make a couple guesses," she says. "I remember some names from the Reapings – Jude Caswell, Sutter Pryce, Klaus Gaveston… ah, right, _now_ I remember!"

"Talk to me," I say, amused.

"It was _your_ district partner who nearly snapped your nose!" Devyn looks impressed, and at the same time, a little sympathetic towards me. Fabulous. I love sympathy. It's my favorite. It's something I can work with, and mold for my own liking. "I mean, redhead loyalty and all that, but that chick's got some problems! Are you okay after what happened?"

It's almost too easy to make a tear well up in my eye, showing some vulnerability. Vulnerability, too, is golden. It either beseeches her to take pity on me, or advantage of me. From there, that's where I shine. It's where I work. I stick out my lip just a little bit, a practice which I've found works better than anything else but crying, and stare at the ground. "Well, my nose was broken," I mutter. "B-But…. I mean, they fixed it and all. Sort of." I look up to Devyn's brown eyes, which are now filled with…. _could it be?... _pity, yes, pity!

"She's just a harlot, okay?" the girl from Ten places a hand on my bony shoulder. "Look, don't let her get you down, alright, Klaus?"

I wipe the crocodile tear from my eye and shrug like it's not a big deal, like I can be strong if I try. But in reality, it's hard to keep a maniacal grin from forming. This is working too well. Suspiciously well. "Harlot is right. I heard back in the district… she…." I freeze, looking over Devyn's shoulder, like I'm searching for Aegis.

"Take your time," Devyn says warmly.

"Well… she wasn't the most innocent in the district, if you know what I mean." The corner of my mouth turns up in a hopeful smile. "But… that's not my business, what she gets up to on her own time."

This is working nearly too well. I literally have this girl in the palm of my hand. Now, all I need to do, is manage not to do something stupid to slip up, and I should be good as gold.

* * *

**Kaori Saito, 15, District Eight Female**

* * *

"Hi, there."

I look up in surprise from trying to undo the heavily laced boots, up into the dark brown eyes of the girl from Five, decked out in a slim silver dress with a crown of tiny satellite dishes. Her hair has tiny diamonds woven throughout, with silver makeup adorning her tan face.

"…Hi."

Silence washes over us like a gentle ocean wave, and the girl sits down. "My name is Cerise Ramirez," she says. "I'm from District Five with my district partner, Jude. And yours is…?"

I offer up a grim smile. "Kaori Saito," I say respectfully. "Eight, as you can see. With some kid named Sutter Pryce."

"That's cool." Cerise gazes out, watching the hubbub from the safety of my chariot. "I'll admit, I sort of panicked when I realized that there weren't that many younger tributes like us. Not that we're young, just… it's us and another girl and boy, and, well, alliances would be tricky to make… you know?" Obviously wracked by nerves, she offers a shy smile.

"I know…" I give up on trying to unlace my boots and look at her better. "I don't think Sutter would be much interested in an alliance with me…" I gesture to him, already bubbling over with charisma as he seduces an audience of Caleigh Herier and Kyran Venegas, both of them staring at my district partner with interest. "…and, well, the girl from Six looks really naïve."

"…And you want a strong ally, not a naïve, weak one." Cerise nods. "I get that. That's why I picked you, really."

A small smile finds its way onto my face naturally. In a world of doom and gloom, there's not much room for happiness and compliments. This one is appreciated, certainly. "You don't seem too incompetent, either." The smile slips off my face, like it has a tendency to do. "But… really, we should try to get to know each other better. Trust-wise."

Her eyes widen, and I can tell immediately that I've hit a sore spot with her. "T-Trust?" she stammers out. "Yeah, I can trust you… or, rather, I can't trust you, we've just met… But I mean… yeah, getting to know each other w-would be good."

"Exactly," I murmur quietly.

Cerise looks at me for a moment, her gaze piercing. "But sometimes life is a gamble. So what do you say?"

Blunt. Candid. Open.

Those are traits that I can learn to appreciate, if she becomes my ally.

I nod, quirking the corner of my lip up into a half-smile, and reaching out a hand. She takes it appreciatively, eyes full of joy. "Allies."

"That was touching."

Cerise and I look up in surprise to meet the curved lips and pale face of the girl from Six. She raises her blond eyebrows and smirks. Next to her, about up to her shoulder, is the boy from Seven, with his heavy eyebrows and severe stare.

"Hello," Cerise says.

The girl smiles warmly, offering a hand. It's cold. "My name is Arika Rillon," she says, presenting herself with verve and charisma. She blinks, fluttering long lashes that seem to be slicked with black oil resembling makeup. "District Six. And this is Codee!"

He waves sort of shyly.

Arika looks at us with the biggest smile on her face. "We couldn't help but overhear you two talking about alliances!" she giggles. "And, well, Codee was the one who thought we should try you, but I thought it was a great idea, so… here we are!"

I blink. Cerise and I exchange a look.

Arika notices, and her expression turns from hopeful and cheerful to suddenly grim. It's striking. "You guys don't want any more in your alliance."

Cerise offers a smile that says, _I don't want to contradict you, but you're right._

The girl from Six snorts. "Please, girls. If you two go at it on your own, you'll both wind up getting your necks snapped in the bloodbath. You need a couple more to add to your alliance. Like bodyguards. Like… us."

Codee rolls his eyes.

"Can we have a moment in private, please?" I say, realizing quickly that all Cerise is going to do is keep flashing that pained, slightly constipated-looking smile. "Just me and Cerise?"

"Why, of course, Kaori."

I lead Cerise behind the chariot where Arika and Codee can't see us, and let out a deep breath. "I don't know what we should do," I say.

"I know," Cerise mutters, her fake smile fading.

"I mean, if we say yes, then we're stuck with two probably incompetent kids our age or younger. And the boy looks like he was roped into this, too." I stare at the ground.

There's silence for a good minute, and Arika calls out to see if we're done.

"Another minute!" I holler back.

"To be honest, she did mention something about bodyguards," Cerise says. "And it's slimy, but maybe that's what we need. Meat shields. She and that boy can make the biggest fools of themselves that they want, getting the attention of everybody and all that, but in the end, they'll be the ones getting knives in their backs from the Careers. Not us."

"You bring up a good point," I reply. "If we can stay under the radar, they can get all the limelight on them."

I love thinking like this, all analytically. Back at home, I was never very bright, in the eyes of my peers and parents, but that's just because I was too shy to reveal my intelligence very well. I was the submissive one in my group of friends. I was always looking for some sort of chance to reinvent myself.

"Let's go tell Arika our decision, then," Cerise mumbles, turning the corner of the chariot.

This is bound to be a good old time.

* * *

**Jude Caswell, 18, District Five Male**

* * *

Cerise has already found her place.

As a guy who's had trouble fitting in at home, I'm not surprised by this development. There weren't that many people who were up to my standards, and I wasn't up to many peoples' standards, either. Not that it mattered very much. People came and go, but my money stayed.

Money could buy things, and people. I could buy my way into a girl's heart, and when I found somebody better, drop her and leave her sprawled on the ground with all my bought luxuries glittering on her body. It's slimy, but I'm not afraid to admit it. I was brought up in my father's image, and I'm proud of it. He was cutthroat, so I'll be cutthroat. He was ruthless, so I'll drop people without another thought.

Just like he did.

Maybe it made me deluded, stupid, and arrogant. But it taught me that people were good for nothing. The only thing that really stayed with you were cold, hard coins, and your thoughts. Guilt was the devil. Greed was our god.

But I don't have my money to buy my way out of this.

My hands find the tight pockets of my silver jumpsuit, where my stylists had shoved in a couple of bobby pins, a small comb, and some ultra duty tape in case something from my outfit came undone. Even though there's some truck in there, my pockets feel empty without any coins. I'm lost.

"Hey, there."

I look up from the ground in surprise to see the girl from One, her lips curved up in a small smirk. "Hey," I say back, not quite believing that I'd be approached by a Career, of all people, but at the same time, pleased and satisfied that somebody up to my standards had come to me.

"My name is Auriga," she says confidently. Her eyebrows raise. "And you are…?"

"Jude Caswell." I straighten my spine and offer a hand. I note the sneer on her lips as she sizes up my silly chariot outfit. "Do forgive me and my clothing. I'm not the biggest fan of it either, take my word of it."

"It is very glittery and shiny," Auriga says, taking my hand. Her eyes sparkle, but it's cold. She reminds me of my father – or her steely eyes do, at least. "District Five must be beautiful."

I snort. "Most poverty-stricken district besides Eleven and Twelve, you mean. Even Six is better off than us, and they make those dirty trains. I'm a part of one of the better-off families in the districts, and yet, I'm working twenty four seven, managing my father's business. How about you?"

Auriga tosses her hair with another one of those smirks. "My family might not have been the richest in the district, but we were among the most respected," she says elegantly. "Respected because of my roots, just like you. The Academy, too. One of the most venerated in One. Training there is tradition for my family, but volunteering is not."

"Why did you, then?" I shoot a smirk right back at her. "Getting cocky, are we?"

She laughs unpleasantly. "One of lesser value might call it that, yes."

My cheeks flare up.

"But no, it's not from cockiness that I volunteered. Simply confidence."

"Because 'I am the best at training, and no matter what, I can fight until I die'?" I say, assuming a high-pitched voice. If she wasn't annoyed by my jabs previously, she's ticked now, but she conceals it well. She takes a deep breath.

"Look, Five. Jude. Caswell. Whatever I'm supposed to call you. I came to you because I saw something in you, something that reminded me of, well, me. I didn't come because I thought you were a twelve year old child." Her nostrils flare. "I'm not allying with the Careers, and neither is my district partner, and if I know this much, the boy from Four has broken away, too. The Careers are nothing this year if it's just Jada and District Two."

My eyes narrow. "Is this some sort of trick?"

Auriga huffs. "If it were a trick, would I be spilling the pack's secrets to you? No. I have trust in you already, Jude, and all I'm hoping for is that eventually you can have a little trust in me, too."

I tilt my head slightly, and she huffs once more. "Look, Five, I don't have all day to sit around and-"

"Okay, okay, okay." I raise a hand to shut her up. "Listen, I appreciate the gesture, and yes, I think I would like to be allies with you. Scratch that, it would be great."

"You're being too polite." Auriga's eyes narrow. "It's fishy, and Jada's not even over here."

"I was raised up right." I smile.

"Your father must have been a good man," Auriga says. "Now, are you going to ally with me, or not?"

I throw my hands up in the air. "Why not," I reply.

She flashes an immediate grin. "Great, then. Shall we try and scope out some other potential allies, then, Jude?"

"But who could compare to our strength?"

Auriga laughs. It's not a nice, tinkling laugh, but rather one laced with venom and insane intelligence. I don't mind, though. The company of those in power, such as this sinister girl from One, is good company indeed.

My father taught me that.

* * *

**Devyn Aldion, 16, District Ten Female**

* * *

So boring.

I teeter slightly on the edge of the chariot, frowning as I watch Silo mingling with another redhead. She forces a laugh as he says something, and they both glare promptly at each other. In no time, though, they're off again, chatting up a storm and smirking at each other.

Dorks.

I wish somebody could just romp up to me, bubbling over with glee and charisma, yet with competence on their side. Silo got that in the girl from Three. Who do I have?

Klaus, the boy who freaked me out four seconds after he started talking. Slimy hair and slimy smile and everything. Yuck.

Sighing heavily to myself, eyes glancing furtively around the room, I find solace in the eyes of Kelsier Arkell.

Sliding closer to her, smirking as she notices me, her ice blue eyes like a clear blue summertime sky, I'm quick to wave and offer a greeting. "Hey!" I say as I position myself in front of her, a few inches taller than her but more willowy. "I'm Devyn Aldion, District Ten."

She's slower to give out a smile, and hers is stiff. "Kelsier Arkell," she replies. "I think somehow you already know that, though."

"Right you are," I laugh. It's then when I notice her district partner shadowing her, bulky and solemn as he gazes at me. Demetrius Blair, I remember. He didn't volunteer, which is odd for a district such as Nine. The newest to join the Careers. "Hey there," I say, although more gentler. He seems sort of like a fragile bluebird – speak too loud and they dart off all scared.

"Hi," he whispers. He hides his body behind Kelser a little more, and no matter how stocky the girl is, I don't know who he thinks he's trying to fool. "I'm Demetrius…. Demetrius Blair."

"That's a very nice name," I say, trying to boost him up. "I'm Devyn, as you heard."

Demetrius offers a cautious smile, tugging at his clothing sort of self-consciously.

So the District Nine tributes are a quiet sort. No trouble. I've dealt with much more difficult people in my life, and I've gotten to paint a genuine smile on nearly all of their faces. I'm like an artist for emotions, running around with my paintbrush of whimsical smiles and good-natured intentions.

"So, what about these outfits, eh?" I laugh, pulling at my shirt. "My stylist had a hairdo that could have reached the ceiling. Kind of pretentious, really." I don't mention how hard she worked to cover up my fresh bruises, or how focused her gaze was when she painted my nails a golden color.

Kelsier opens up a little more – she's into small talk. "Mine was strange, too," she choruses softly. Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks, swiveling her gaze upwards to meet my eyes. She talks a little bit about the gaggle of strangely colored people with their odd mannerisms, giggling at a joke she makes at their expense, even.

So she's a quiet sort at first, but she'll open up once she gets comfy. That's just like one of my friends. I wonder how Demetrius is. He's more quiet than this girl.

"So what have you two been up to?" I ask boredly, sort of not caring if I've interrupted Kelsier or not. Apparently she was in the middle of a sentence, because she pauses abruptly, shooting me a dirty look.

"Well," Kelsier says testily, "we were just cruising around, getting to visit the other tributes. Such as _Careers_," she says pointedly.

She's throwing shade. Well, it takes two to tango.

"The very same Careers that I saw mingling with the lowly outliers?" I taunt, raising my eyebrows and enjoying the reaction I get when her face falls. "Auriga, I believe, with that boy from Five?"

"Are you serious?" Kelsier says, her voice a mere whisper. Her eyes are wider than saucers.

I try to conceal a smirk. "Do you think I'd lie?"

Demetrius, from behind her, shifts, and he whispers something to her. Kelser looks back at him with an accusatory expression, but he shrugs, and motions towards me. I grow impatient fast. I can't rest easy until I'm in control of this situation. So what if that makes me a control freak? It's only turned a select few off.

"Nice banter," I comment. "Care to let me in on it?"

Kelsier turns to me with an expression that even I can't read. "We were talking about how…" she winces, like it's killing her to say. "If you might like to join us in an alliance. You, me, and Demetrius." So that's what they were talking about. The boy puppet was persuading little Miss Prissy here to ask me for my hand as an ally. Smart move, Blair.

It's not difficult to push a smile onto my face, bubbling to the brim with glee. "An alliance? _Me_?" I deadpan. "Do pardon, but I was starting to get the vibe that you hated me."

Now it's her turn to fake a happy face. "_Me_?" she says, mimicking my faux-surprised tone to a T. "Never." The tightness in her voice is impressive.

Tension already. Drama, chaos, confusion, controversy. I lick my lips, barely tasting the cherry-flavored balm that was slathered on earlier. I'm already loving this. I thrive on hullabaloo like this.

"Gee, this is sure fun," I say. "Maybe we should play a game or something to get to know each other better. I've talked maybe two words to your friend Demetrius over there." The boy in question shrinks under my piercing gaze.

"Fine," Kelsier says frostily.

"Two truths, one lie, then." My eyes sparkle. "You think up two truths about yourself, and one lie. Make 'em believable, though. And hey, I'll even go first!" My eyes land on Demetrius, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "One, I have a twin sister. Two, I'm a farmer girl from my mom's side. Three, my daddy runs a bakery shop. Pick out the lie there."

"Your dad runs a bakery!" Demetrius bursts out rather quickly, looking pleased with himself.

"_Wrong_," I shoot back at him.

His grin falls faster than a turkey being shot out of the sky before the holidays.

"You have a twin, then." Kelsier raises her eyebrows.

"False," I sing out. I grin at the District Nine pair, both of them looking very confused. "Not everybody in District Ten is a farmer. You two are big kids. I would have thought that you knew better than to stereotype."

* * *

**A/N: Catch Us If You Can by Elle King.**

* * *

**Another chapter down. A couple more like this, then we move onto a slightly different format for each tribute's second POV. This chapter was later than usual thanks to an incredibly busy schedule, but no worries. I **_**like**_** being busy.**

**So, yes, as always, your views on the tributes featured this chapter would be greatly appreciated! I'd also like to shout out two of my squad here, Kitty and Cloe, with a little belated birthday message for both of them. Stay sweet, girls. ;***

**Questions~**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Chart?**


	10. The Strange

.

* * *

_**She'd twist with your words and she'd mess with your head.**_

* * *

**Kiah Devlan, 16, District Eleven Female**

* * *

The banquet.

It's been tradition, apparently, ever since it was installed a few years ago. After the Quarter Quell, they decided that every tribute needed to mingle with each other even more than just during training time, so they threw in a banquet, too.

It's not that special for my stylists – the obvious highlight of the night was chariot rides. Murmuring amongst themselves as I strip myself free of the binding outfit, they slip me into a form-fitting red and white striped dress and comfortable white shoes with little bows on the toes. My hair is left as is, but with a headband to control my puffy locks. The final touch is a spritz or two of sweet flowery perfume that leaves my head spinning. I already have makeup applied, and you can't shave my legs any more than they already are, so I'm escorted out into an elevator as soon as they finish the final spritz of cologne.

Solari is nowhere to be found in the crowded elevator. I'd know – he would tower over everybody. Instead, I find myself pressed up against Eilat Closeau from Seven, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she smells my perfume.

"Yee-ick!" she screeches theatrically. She fans herself. "What'd they put on you, Essence of Corpse?"

I shrink. I'm not used to being noticed like this. Usually I'm the last one that you'd find in a room, conversing with the wallpaper or making friends with the drapes. "I… I don't know," I say, finding the courage to reply to the loud girl.

Eilat playfully gags, shoving the two from Eight as she throws her arms out. "I haven't smelled such a stench ever since they buried Grandma!" she declares.

"Eilat," whispers her district partner, a small boy with dark skin and a poofy afro. He offers me an apologetic smile as he tugs at one of Eilat's golden bangles, trying to get her to calm down a little bit.

I turn away, facing the sleek elevator doors until they open. By then, we've heard Eilat screech over Auriga Lefleur's baby blue dress and complain over Kaori Saito's delicate frown, how it seems to be 'targeted towards her.' I think I can speak for everybody that we're glad to be out of the entire mess.

The place that we step into is magical – the room is dark, illuminated by twinkling yellow and white lights that resemble stars. I swallow a lump in my throat, remembering the many nights that I would spend staring up at the sky, making wishes on stars that would never become true.

Solari finds me before I even begin to search for him. He was in one of the other four elevators, and he grips my hand so tightly, I feel as if the bones in my fingers may break. But he's scared, trembling even, that I let him go. If it makes him feel better, than so be it.

A man with a nice metallic blue tie soon taps a microphone, announcing that this night is just to mingle with the other tributes, grab a bite to eat, and as long as we stay for at least two hours, we'll be free to leave whenever. It's a short speech, but it makes my stomach feel queasy already. I don't like stuff like

I hate being social. At least, to people I don't know. The false smiles, the sweaty palms, the forced laughs… nothing about it appeals to me.

Solari is there, though. Stammering into my ear that we'll do just fine, he lugs me over to a table full of refreshments.

It's the first time I get to see him properly. He looks rather dapper in black tuxedo pants, loafers, and a sleek maroon shirt that matches my dress perfectly. I'd compliment him, but I'm too afraid that he'll either think I'm strange, or he'll not know what to say, so I keep my thoughts to myself, silently gushing over how adorable he looks when his eyebrows knit.

"H-How about getting some p-punch?" he says after a moment of awkward standing.

"That sounds very nice." I smile momentarily, focusing on ladling the pink liquid into the cutesy crystal cups. They might look mawkish, but they're useful.

Sipping the sweet rosy stuff, I almost don't notice when there's a tap on my shoulder. Thinking it's Solari, I turn around with a stupid grin playing on my lips.

It's not.

It's a new person.

The boy looks sort of remorseful that he tapped on my shoulder, but he puts on a good show. "Hi," he says grimly. "I'm… um… Kyran Venegas."

"Kiah Devlan," I answer. After a moment, I nod. The hand holding the punch glass trembles.

_Doing great so far, Kiah._

"I like your dress," he blurts out.

"Thank you," I say.

He stares at the ground, lips pressed together. It's clear that this is awkward for him, but it's equally uneasy for me. I'm not looking to help him out, either – why do I need him when I have a potential ally in Solari?

"I…" he laughs suddenly, eyes searching the ceiling. "Okay, this is stupid for me. Uh. I'm not the best at… well…"

"Introductions?" I finish for him. I give a half-laugh, sipping my punch to soothe my dry throat. "You are not alone. I'm so bad with people." I'm trying to make him feel better by sugarcoating my words, but I feel like it's too obvious. I need time to analyze him. Does he like help or does it make him feel weak? Did he approach me for a joke or for seriously?

If he feels helpless or anything like that, he doesn't let on. He offers a sideways grin. "Maybe you can help me with that, then," he says.

I smile sunnily, feeling stronger now that I've gotten a grip on him and Solari's support – I can tell by the way his hand squeezes mine. "Definitely," I say. "How about taking a walk…?"

* * *

**Corton Paventi, 18, District Two Male**

* * *

Jazzlyn won't stop talking.

It's monotonous, her and Jada. They've bonded over their love for lip balms and training, and now they're closer together than two grapes on a vine. Me? I'm the one pushed off to the side. They could care less where I go.

But these two are my allies. I'm not interested in 'mingling' with some tributes from District Seven when the only other interaction I'll have is when they meet the end of my scythe.

It's been known ever since the start of the chariot rides that Quentyn and Ayden were never going to join the alliance, and apparently little Lefleur from District One isn't coming to the good side, either. I saw her over by the speakers, cackling up a storm with an impressive-looking outlier boy. She's found her place. Apparently we weren't good enough for her.

Not much of a problem. She's just another to add to my list.

"Hey, Corton!"

I turn my head slowly to find Jada's dark eyes staring right at me, a smirk slowly pushing its way up to her lips. "We were thinking about grabbing something to eat," she says. "Are you game?"

"Down for anything, girl-baby," I drawl.

She looks at me strangely, but conceals her curiosity with a sneer of false disgust. "You're so weird." She laughs it off.

"I'm okay with being weird, though, unlike you pretentious hogs."

She snorts. "You're calling _me_ a hog? Funny."

I shrug, following Jada and Jazzlyn towards the refreshments table. There's not too many tributes there; they're mainly scattered throughout the gymnasium floor, clinging to walls. A few have their heads peeking out of their shells, speaking to other tributes cautiously. Among those are Quentyn and Ayden, talking to each other sleepily, each with a cup of the pink punch in their hands. The rejects that started this entire split.

Swallowing a sudden curse word that threatens to spill out of my mouth, I tromp after my dark-haired comrades to the cloth-colored table. There's quite a spread, with hardly anyone to enjoy it. Everybody's too scared to join around the hotspot, it seems. I pluck two large turkey legs from the mess, one in each hand, and dig in, uncaring of who thinks I'm a slob.

Anybody who cares enough to voice their complaints can bite me.

"So, lovely people." Jazzlyn's voice rises above the other muted chatter and she smiles softly. "Any requests on who to take under our wing this year, since clearly, we're down a good number?"

"I had my eye on Mister Manicure from Five, but Auriga's already claimed him," I sigh.

"The two from Twelve looked promising," chirps Jazzlyn. Then her face falls. "But they don't seem like they're taking any visitors."

A loud snort comes from our side and we whip our heads to see Jada, raising her eyebrows venomously, though her voice is sweeter than honey. "Please," she says. "We are the alpha dogs here, not them. We can interrupt who we like, Jazz."

Jazz's eyebrows knit together for a moment before she breaks into a chipper disposition, all smiles and rainbows. "You are right!" she cheers. "So we can approach them, then."

"Of course we can, sweets," I say. I don't mean for it to sound sarcastic – well, maybe I do a little – but it does. Jada gives me an approving look, and Jazz shakes the comment off.

Together as a trio we stride towards the two from Twelve, both of them looking rather ferocious. Hovering around them is the boy from Eight, a devilish smirk painted upon his lips.

"Hey there," Jada says as we present ourselves to them. I watch in mild amusement as she throws herself out there, pulling her top down slightly to reveal more cleavage, biting her lip gently, and fluttering her cosmetically made-up lashes to appeal to the two boys – and maybe the girl, too. "I'm Jada, District Four. My friends and I noticed how absolutely _fierce_ you three look."

"We're not in an alliance with each other," the girl says, raising her thin eyebrows.

"Perfect," Jazzlyn purrs, bubbling over with verve. "You can join us, then, all three of you!"

The eyes of the boy from Eight fly wide open immediately. "Me join the Careers?"

"Wait," I bust in. Jada and Jazzlyn look at me quizzically. They're confused. But I've done the math in my head. The Eight boy is well-built, no doubt about that, but he's an obvious coward. He won't be much of a fighter at all. "It's either none or all. We're not only taking one or two of you. It's all or nothing."

Now he'll have to beg the Twelve kids to join us. It's obvious that he wants to hang with the cool cats – but they're his all-access pass.

"Please, guys?" the boy's practically dancing with all the ants in his pants. "The Careers! Think about it! And they want all three of us!"

The boy from Twelve looks up with a curl in his lip. My stomach drops. Not a good sign. And how can they refuse my persuasion?

Never mind. It's not like they're our only option.

"No _way_," he sneers. "You three are puppets. Lapdogs. Leave us all alone." He shakes his head in disgust, stalking off. The boy from Eight practically dissolves. The girl looks amused.

Jada and Jazzlyn's faces fall, but… "No worries, ladies," I say in fascination, watching the pair from Nine and the girl from Ten. "I think I just found our next big project."

We walk over to the trio, my two allies tilting their heads in confusion, but this time, I'm not messing around. I don't want an outlier reject like the redhead in our group. She can bite me. What I want is Prettypants and Brawny Boy – they're the real show here.

I stick out my hand, smirking.

"You two seem nice," I say charismatically.

The redhead scoffs. "Nice job ignoring me, Two. Are you _racist_?"

"Any chance that you and you would be interested in a little…" I tap my fingertips together. "A-_lli_-ance?"

"Us?" the boy seems shell-shocked. I nod.

With three words, the blond girl destroys any sort of bond they might have had with the girl from District Ten, her eyes flooding with appreciation and thirst. "We'd love to!"

The redhead chick storms off, and I can almost feel Jada and Jazzlyn exchanging a smile. Our show's already started.

* * *

**Auriga Lefleur, 16, District One Female**

* * *

Jude keeps swishing his hands.

"Would you stop that?" I snap, craning my neck to make sure nobody's watching him and laughing. I cross my arms haughtily, glaring. "You look positively stupid thrashing your hands in your trousers like that."

He sniggers for a moment, but straightens his spine quickly, raising his eyebrows. "Gee, so sorry. You have my most sincere apologies, Auriga."

I pour myself another cup of punch, taking a quick sip of the sugary stuff before talking again. "Why do you do that, anyways? It only looks idiotic. That isn't an image you want to uphold now, Jude. We're big-time now."

He shrugs. "It's out of habit. Usually there's a few coins to jingle around in my pocket. It's comforting."

"So sorry that you don't have your petty cash to play with anymore." I shoot daggers at him.

Jude frowns.

"Anyways." I fluff my hair and smooth down my baby blue dress, tugging down the top of it just a wee bit. The more cleavage shown, the better. "Do you think we should talk to anybody else about an alliance?"

"Nobody else seems worth our time," he cackles.

I raise my eyebrows slightly. I know that I was being cocky and all that earlier on during chariots, but I've had time to think since then. Worst times to worst, numbers are something to depend on. It means keeping a tighter reign on more people, I understand, but… numbers. You can count on numbers.

"One more person, maybe." I crane my neck once more, gripping my punch glass tightly. "And _I_ think it'd be worth our time, so please take a hint from the Avoxes and shut up."

"Rude," Jude mumbles, smirking.

It's not rude. It's just disciplinary.

Just like his talks about how he looked up to his father, and got a strict disposition from him, I looked up to… my little brother. Rather, I wanted him to look up to me. Thus I adopted a mindset like that of a soldier. Train. Train. Train. Eat. Sleep. Train. Train. It was monotonous, but in the end, I wanted him to have a sister to look up to and be proud of.

Orion entered the academy this year. I will stop at nothing to make him proud.

"We need somebody who's just like us," I say. "Strict. Prominent. Strong."

"And I'm sure there will be." Jude's smirk melts slowly into a hardened frown. It looks so natural on him, it's like an artist carved his lips there with some glue and a little flesh-colored plaster. "Sometimes I wonder why you didn't just stay with the Careers, Auriga."

"Too pretentious for my tastes," I sigh.

He snorts very loudly.

I snap my gaze back to see him and glare for the fortieth time in a minute. "What the _hell_ is-" I stop myself abruptly, swallowing my rudeness and assuming a tough but calm tone. "What was the snort for?"

"It's just… you? Calling the other Careers pretentious?" Jude snickers. "It's so ironic."

I sigh loudly. "I'll have you know that I could go back to them right now and drop _you_ like a hot potato. But no. I left and stuck with you, the hot mess."

"Am I supposed to feel threatened?" Jude shoots back. "Because I'm not, Auriga. I'm strong, I'm tall, I'm threatening. Any tribute would be pleased to ally with me."

"A conceited boy from Five who misses his coins and has a vocabulary so sarcastic, the late Snow would be impressed. _Hmm_. I'm sure they'd bend over backwards to get a friend request from you."

"Precisely," he says aloofly.

I grip my glass tightly, my knuckles whitening. I'm not used to getting such backtalk. Back in One, it was me who was giving the sass. It was me who had the mouth on her. But here? I suppose it's Mister Caswell who holds that title. The Snarkmaster.

"Fine," I say, gritting my teeth. I'm a sore loser. I hate losing this argument, but it seems I'll have to concede defeat if I want to keep my ally.

Not like I'm doing it for him. I could drop him and gain three more fools in five minutes if I needed to.

Just as he's about to start gloating, a shadow falls over us. I blink in confusion, turning to see the agitated-looking boy from District Twelve, his eyes dark and hands balled in fists.

"Oh, please, King Angry," I say sarcastically. "Don't bean me with your big fists."

His nostrils flare, bringing to mind a bull about to charge.

"Let's be real here." A hand sticks out, waiting for a handshake. "The toughest should stick together. I agree with you two. I was listening."

Jude smirks from behind me. I feel his arm looping around my shoulders. "So we've got a spy here, do we? I don't know, Auriga, he seems _shifty_." His voice drips sarcasm. That's either a good or a bad sign.

The boy raises his thick eyebrows. "Foster Carney. Just break it to me now – am I in or out?"

We take too long to decide, apparently.

"Scratch that, I'm in. Hell, you two _know_ I'm in." His hand disappears quickly, attaching itself to his hip. "You both need me."

I smirk, but don't say a word. He's right and he knows it. Plus, he's assertive. Bold. Has a way with words. I could use him.

But I feel as if we have different definitions of the word 'use'.

* * *

**Kyran Venegas, 18, District Six Male**

* * *

Kiah's so warm.

To be fair, at first I was skeptical, like usual – but I had to keep pinching myself, telling myself that _I_ was the one who had approached _her_. If anything, she should be skeptical of me.

Guess not.

Guess it's just me. Like always.

"This is a fun event, I guess." Kiah smiles softly, glancing up to Solari. "Don't you two think so?"

"Y-Yeah!" Solari and me stammer in near unison.

So this is how it's going to be, I guess. Kiah as the somewhat weak leader with me and Solari as her meathead troupers. Even though I mind – I'd much rather be making the decisions for us – it's not like I'm going to… _say_ anything.

I mean, what if I slip up? What if I accidentally look at her boobs or something and lose eye contact? She'll lose respect for me. What if I stammer too much and she considers me stupid? What if I blink too much and she thinks I'm weird?

Yeah, it's just safer to nod and agree with every tiny decision she makes for us. I guess it's not all bad. She's a little spacey sometimes, but she's nice and smart overall. At least I didn't stick myself with Arika. She's _too_ bouncy.

"Kyran?"

I glance up from my plate of sliders, a pit forming in my stomach. I stare at Kiah with wide eyes, silently prompting her to repeat the question.

"Do you want to dance?"

My heart thuds, but I can't disappoint her. I don't want her to think I'm a wuss. I ditch the plate of sliders in the trash and take her hand, my palm already growing sweaty.

It's a rather slow dance. The only tributes on the floor are Jada and Jazzlyn from the Careers and Arika's entire alliance. Jada and Jazzlyn are getting really into it, dancing saucily and giggling like idiots when Sutter Pryce nearly starts drooling over them and their jiggling body parts. Arika's dancing like a top, twirling Codee round and round. Kaori and Cerise hang off to the side, eyes searching around awkwardly.

"I've never danced before," I mutter embarrassedly.

Kiah giggles lightly, brushing away a stray lock of hair from her face. "It's easy. Just move your body to the music!"

I watch Kiah as she moves her arms above her head, her eyelids fluttering shut, hips shaking slightly to the beat. I glance around, afraid of looking like a fool in front of others but not wanting to disappoint my new ally. I mean, what'll happen if I let her down? She won't want to be my ally anymore and then where will I be?

Coughing slightly, I wave my arms out by my sides and bob my head.

Kiah opens her eyes and giggles. "Nice dance you got there," she chirps, mimicking me. A small burst of pride surges through me.

The upbeat tune quickly fades out, switching to a much slower, almost grim-sounding beat. Kiah puts her arms down immediately, peering up at the ceiling, illuminated with twinkling white lights, like stars.

"A slow song," she says.

"What's that?"

"You've never gone to a dance before?" Kiah purses her lips. "Back in Eleven, we had field dances. After a big harvest, people would go to the empty fields and dance. People would bring any instruments they had. The luckiest of us had a guitar that they'd made. There wasn't much food, but there was family and friends. We danced all night." There's stars in her eyes – or are they tears?

I place a hand on her elbow, smiling sadly down at her. "That sounds wonderful."

"It was so fun," she sighs. "But it's all over – for now, at least."

Silence consumes us except for the music. Jada and Jazzlyn are still goofing around, and they're now twirling like Arika was earlier. They leap around, clutching each others' shoulders.

"Can I at least dance with you now, if you miss your field dances so much?" I hold out a hand.

Kiah smiles through her pain, nodding and accepting my embrace. Our hands find each other, completely natural and unforced. We rock slightly from side to side, and she lies her head down on my left pec. My eyes widen, hoping to any gods out there that she doesn't realize how fast my heart is beating.

"I don't want to be here," she murmurs.

I rest my chin on top of her head and close my eyes, still swaying slightly to the beat. "Neither do I," I whisper.

I don't get why this all is happening. I mean, yeah, rebellion from the districts and all that, but I guess I'm just confused on why… us. Why not the bullies of the district? Those who nobody truly likes?

Why the people so pure in heart and mind? Those who everybody _wants_ around? Those who people _want_ to live?

I stiffen slightly against Kiah's body. If I am to live out of the arena, to see Kent and my parents again, I need to be ambitious. I can't be a weak worm. I need to grow a spine.

I've never liked showing vulnerability, but that was back in school. If I slipped up and let my face flush red or something, it didn't really matter. But here? Now? Vulnerability is deadly. Show a weakness and watch as it comes back to bite you. I can't afford for anything like that to happen.

I need to shoot for the moon.

As long as I shoot for the moon, I've been told that even if I fail, I'll land among stars.

* * *

**A/N: Karla the Strange by Maddy Ellwanger.**

* * *

**Yeah… late update. Well, mainly because I've sort of lost motivation thanks to a low review count (hahahaha looking at most of y'all) and the fact that soccer's right around the corner. Summary? Hiatus? They're possible. But I've never been one to quit something on first thought. I think things through.**

**And if I gain more motivation and plod through this, maybe I can do it, who knows. So for now, this story's still on.**

**Mini shout-out to my new favorite singer Maddy Ellwanger ;) She's little but fabulous. (and she gave me a birthday message. Yes, I died.) Check her out!**

**And hey, it was my birthday a couple days ago, a b-day review would be fabulous ;)**

* * *

**Questions~ **

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Chart?**_


	11. Ex's and Oh's

.

* * *

_**I get high, and I love to get low.  
**__**So the hearts keep breaking, and the heads just roll.**_

* * *

**Kelsier Arkell, 18, District Nine Female**

* * *

Light.

It's the first thing I see when I wake up. Groggy. Disoriented. _Confused_. I run a hand through my thick blonde hair, blinking as I make out the blurry image of Roland standing in my doorway, his face tight and stressed.

"What happened?" I croak, pulling myself to my feet.

Roland's eyes are sad. "Kelsier… don't you remember anything?"

"What?"

"Training, interviews… anything of that sort?" He bites his lip, blinking with hope.

"No…" I shake my head in confusion. "I remember the banquet. Uh…. I remember the night of the banquet. Then I fell asleep, and here I am. What the hell are you talking about?"

Roland lets out a hiss, pacing around my room in worry. "I can't believe it happened," he moans.

"_What_ happened?"

He turns to me with pain etched in his expression. "The girl from Three," he says. "You remember her, at the very least?"

The girl with the blazing red hair and the scowl. That's all I remember. She was too scarily quiet to make much of an impression. "Vaguely, vaguely, very vaguely."

"I don't know how she did it, but…" Roland throws his hands up. "When you tributes were all done with your interviews, you were all led into a room. You know, sort of as a last hurrah? Kind of like the banquet the first night, except it was a lot shorter and not even a banquet?"

"I don't remember that…" Usually I'd be tracing my fingers on his skin by now, trying to get him to talk to me, but he's already speaking and I'm way too dazed and disoriented to do anything else.

"I _knew_ you wouldn't." Roland growls to himself. "The room they had prepared had just been painted, so the fumes would have been too terrible. So they led you into the medical waiting room by the training arena. Does this make sense?"

"Well, I don't get why they'd want us to meet up for a last time after we'd spent days together." I layer on the sarcasm.

"It's the Capitol, nobody knows why they do things." Roland waves his hand, like he's dispelling that thought. "But somehow… that girl from Three… she got nosy. She led herself into a room with all sorts of tonics and ointments for injuries and long story short… oxide. Lots of gas spilled. Stuff that in small quantities, heals, but in larger quantities, is bad… Lots of stuff that blanked out your short-term memory."

I feel weak all of a sudden. It's not a feeling I'm used to – I always have control, no matter what the situation. Even if I have to claw unattractively to the top, I'm always in control.

But losing my memory?

"So wait, let me get this straight," I say slowly. "Everybody else – even the girl who spilled the gas or whatever – is at the same handicap that I am?"

He nods. "Everybody. Every single tribute was disoriented, couldn't remember anything besides… maybe just up to the banquet? Some didn't even remember that. They just recollected the times up to the train rides and entering the Capitol."

Frowning in determination, my mind already at work, even this early in the morning, I speak again. "What day is it now? The day after interviews?"

"The day of your launch." Roland suddenly looks gaunt, the contours of his face stretched and wrinkled. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes don't look chipper anymore, they're haggard. "For the arena. We have two hours."

"That's just enough time for me to do some deep thinking," I announce. I look him square in the eye, sparing a small smile. "Thank you. For the information. And mentoring me. Training me back in the district. And doing everything else that I couldn't remember."

He raises his arm, as if to lie a hand on my shoulder, but it falters. "I'm your mentor," he whispers. "It's what I do. It's what I've been doing."

"And you're doing a bloody good job of it," I say reassuringly, sensing the misery in his tone.

Roland stares straight at me, his icy blue eyes twinkling for a moment, but he casts his gaze down to the ground again and gives a simple nod. "You should get ready for launch. I mean, you'll get your arena outfit just before the launch and all that, but… you know what I mean."

I smile, closing the door after him as he exits.

I had him in the palm of my hand for a moment there.

But it doesn't matter now.

Moving around the room, choosing an outfit for the day, tugging a brush through my hair, I slowly and methodically get ready. My mouth is dry, my mind blank from the shock. My memory has been erased? And so has everybody else's?

Well, darn.

Collecting my hair into a ponytail and tying it tightly, moving over to a mirror to watch myself, I catch something. It's not something I'd usually notice. But somehow, as I lock eyes with my reflection, I see something stirring inside.

Sorrow?

Can't be. I've always been able to see some sort of light in things. I'm not an optimist in any way, a sunny person who is unable to frown and keeps perking everybody's spirits, but I'm not a pessimist, either. And yet, a realist isn't my style. I'm sort of in the center of the three.

I stare closer at my reflection, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Am I upset since I'm no longer in control? What am I feeling?

I don't even know what I'm feeling. My brain is too scattered.

I must be going nuts. I've _never_ been so dotty.

* * *

**Ayden Navarro, 18, District Four Male**

* * *

Jada stares down into her porridge.

I blink, swishing my own oats and milk and honey around in my bowl. It's been so surreal. The last thing that I remember before waking up is Quentyn, smiling and agreeing to ally with me. Breaking away from the Careers. Breaking bonds.

But everything else… it's just a blur. I can't even pick out small parts of it.

"Hey," I say quietly, nudging Jada's shoulder. She's sad. I'm sad. But I can cheer her up. Being liked is so easy; people just consider it harder than it actually is. "How about a smile, eh?"

She scoffs, gripping her spoon and scooping up two blueberries. "How can you tell me to cheer up when our memories have been wiped?" she grouches. "Three days of my life that I can never get back. And perhaps the three most important parts of it. What if I made allies in training aside from my regular group and I can't remember? What if I broke up with my allies since we couldn't work together, and…" she trails off, glaring ferociously at her breakfast. "…Never mind."

"No, keep talking." I smile, hoping to get a similar reply. No such luck. "I've heard that it's better to let your words roam free, rather than keep them all bottled up."

"You must have been raised by hippies…" Jada rolls her eyes, plastering a sweet smile onto her lips. "But don't you feel just a little irritated at the fact that we were basically cheated?"

I consider her question, frowning down into my oatmeal. "A little," I admit. "But we can't fight it. It's nature, I guess."

Jada's smile tightens. Her voice grows unnecessarily gushy and high. "I swear, Aegis Crowley…" She shakes her head a little, making her ponytail swish over the back of her neck. "She sure is gonna get it."

I snort. "Come on, Jada," I say. "Where's your cute girl-next-door attitude now?"

"I lost it when I lost my memory," she deadpans.

Sighing and pushing away from the table, I plunk my bowl – still full of untouched oats and honey – into the sink. I've lost my appetite completely. Maybe not the smartest thing to do, but it would be wiser to go in on an empty stomach than on an ill one. "I'm going to talk to Mysti and Lana, alright?" I say gently. "You can join us when you like."

Jada buries her face in her hands.

The living room isn't as happy as I had hoped it would be. Mysti's curled up on the couch, staring out at the television with bleary eyes. Lana's a big ball of grouchiness, arms crossed and spine stiff.

"You two seem cheerful," I say, testing the waters. I usually don't start conversations – I let the other people come to me first – but if there's something to be done, I'm going to do it.

"We are so cheerful," Lana deadpans.

I smile, sensing the stress in the air. "Well, I, for one, am ready for the day." My stomach churns. "I'm actually a bit eager to see how it all turns out."

"I was eager, too." Jada suddenly pops into the doorway. I glance at her quickly – her spine is straight, her head held high. "Doesn't it show?"

"You have more fakeness in you than a Capitolite injected with silicone," I laugh.

Jada's smile melts, replaced quickly by a hard scowl. "What makes you say that?"

"Well," I say. "I didn't think it, but after that little smile-drop… now I'm starting to believe it."

Jada gives a forced laugh, her smile straining. "You know nothing about me."

I don't like arguments. I back away from the potential fight with my tail between my legs, raising my hands in my own defense. "Hey, now, I was just making a statement. But I'll leave you to it."

"Leave me to what?"

"Being fake." I smile.

Jada growls slightly, the wrinkles at the sides of her mouth deepening. "You stay quiet," she says in an accusatory tone. "It's not nice to make enemies when the arena is just an hour away. Especially enemies who will soon have access to pointy weapons. Spears. Hatchets. Knives."

"Apologies," I say, hoping that I don't sound too much like I'm mocking her. Apparently she can't just take a little joke. But I suppose if I were being accused of being synthetic, I'd be on my wary guard a bit, too.

She turns her attention away from me, however, and flips it onto our mentors, who have been observing the conversation like a group of quiet old ladies. Which they sort of are. Barring Lana. "When are we getting downstairs? I just want to get to the arena as soon as possible. I can't stand being caged like this."

"You'll get your wish," Mysti says, more bitterly than I've ever heard her speak. She avoids all eye contact. "Just hop in the elevator. I was supposed to send you two down soon anyways."

"Thanks." Jada wavers by the elevator doors, then presses the button. But even as the doors slide open, she hesitates. "I just want to… to thank you…"

"Me too," I say, stepping into the limelight. "You two have been exemplary. I couldn't ask for better mentors to lead me through this, even with the memory loss incident. You two kept a cool head on your shoulders, and for that, I thank you. More than words can say, thank you."

Lana and Mysti both break into soft smiles, and I can feel Jada glaring at me from behind for stealing the spotlight. But I don't care. I've lightened everybody's loads all my life, ending conflicts, a peacemaker. But now it's time to step up to the plate and do some things for myself.

Instead of being the selfless, Ayden Navarro is transitioning into the selfish.

And I'm okay with that.

* * *

**Caleigh Herier, 18, District Twelve Female**

* * *

The elevator is not a quiet scene.

There's the two from Ten, arguing loudly over something that happened at breakfast. Pair that with the boy from Nine and his obviously high mentor whimpering that he sees ghosts in the corner, and the tiny boy from Seven, and you've got yourself a regular nut-job parade.

I jab Foster in the ribs, snickering as Nine's mentor drops to his knees, moaning that the ghosts are floating closer. "Look at that guy. How much do you think he smoked today?"

"Looks more like the effects of morphling to me," Foster observes.

My smile is wiped off immediately. I don't make jokes very often, but when I do, I somewhat expect people to at least give me a half-smile. "Morphling or an inhalant, that guy is seriously baked." I shake my head. "Shame. He would have been so bright."

"Mentors are supposed to help," Foster says grimly.

Obviously I'm not getting anywhere friend-wise with Foster. Not like it matters. He made his alliance, and I made mine – according to my mentor, I was paired up with Devyn and Eilat. Devyn's in the elevator with me, but she's too busy screeching about some mix-up with her waffles to even care to acknowledge me.

I sigh, leaning against the hard marble of the elevator as the doors slide open. Silo and Devyn stroll out, each one complaining even louder to the other. Codee fearfully glances around before exiting, and then goes the odd pair from District Nine. Foster leaves me without a single word.

It's just so difficult to believe that in such a short time, I'll be trying to slit these kids' throats.

Picking my feet up slowly, dragging my toes as I walk away from the elevator, I'm immediately greeted by the screechy, raucous voice of Eilat Closeau, the girl who my mentor said that I loved.

I don't see how _anyone_ could love this girl, let alone me.

"Caaaaaaleigh!" Eilat howls, barreling towards me, nearly shoving her boobs in my face as she throws herself onto me. I stagger backwards, the wind knocked out of me from her heavy body.

"_Gerroffame_!" I protest, my voice muffled.

Eilat hops down, grinning, plucking a stray hair out of her long eyelashes. "It's been too long, Caleigh," she says dramatically. "Glad to see that you're still alive and kicking."

"Me too," I say with as much snark as I can muster.

She doesn't get the hint, though, just keeps talking. "Okay, so I'm low-key all eager and hyped for this, but I'm also kind of scared. Scratch that, of course I'm not scared."

"However can you not be scared," I say dryly.

Letting loose a string of maniacal chuckles, she tugs at her long hair with a hand. "I've wrestled so many kids before that I feel like this will be a piece of cake!" she exclaims rather jovially. "There was that one time when the feral dog attacked me, too, but I was able to hold him off! I'm _fire_, Caleigh! I'm on _fire_!"

"Eilat Closeau, the hero," I say, pushing past her, looking desperately for an exit. I'm so sick of her already.

Eilat examines herself in a mirror lining the wall, licking her pinky and smearing her eyebrow back into place. "I try. So, Herier, what have you – wait!"

"What?" I glance up, annoyed.

A big shit-eating smirk worms its way onto her mug. "Your last name."

"Herier?"

She sniggers. "Don't you mean… _Hairier_?"

My cheeks flare up and instantly I'm irritated with _myself_ for letting the little brat get to me. The truth is that, yes, my last name is pronounced 'hairier'. And I was well aware of it in District Twelve, and I didn't need Eilat to bring it up. Again.

I thrive in peace. I don't need this controversy.

"If you could shut up for five seconds I'd love that, thanks," I say off-handedly, silently congratulating myself for coming up with a nice comeback without getting too heated up. I'm usually level-headed – I'm glad that I was able to prove it.

My 'ally' frowns, her eyebrows raising in accusation. "You're telling me to zip it when you're the one who's talking all the time. Ironic, ironic, ironic!"

I force a laugh. "You've got to be kidding me."

Eilat tuts, shaking her head furiously. Everybody's started walking, presumably to the hovercrafts that we'll board to get to the arena, but all I can focus on is Eilat's big, fat face and her stupid eyebrows and her stupid, stupid fables and insults.

"You're the one who started all this, you know. Caleigh Hairier."

I'm getting heated.

I need to stop my tongue before I say something I regret.

Inhaling sharply, trying to summon up a little bit of peace and courtesy towards this girl, I raise my own eyebrows. "I'd appreciate if you didn't call me that," I gruff, gritting my teeth.

Eilat laughs again, resembling a goat even more. "How can you not make fun of a name like 'Hairier', though?"

I shake my head.

Even if this girl is annoying, there's no way I could kill her. I might be abrasive, I might insult people a lot, and I might struggle to keep my cool, but I could never… I could never take another human being's life. It would be like throwing a spear into father's chest.

These tributes surrounding me – they all have had lives. They've all laughed with their friends and family, they've all cried and been confused about significant others and crushes, they've all blown out candles on their birthday. They all have somebody they're close to and somebody that they can't stand.

These tributes here – they're just like me.

But for me to make it out of here with my heart still beating and my head still intact, I need to watch every single one of them die.

I just don't know if I can do that.

As Eilat babbles on and on about silly name choices and completely random things, and as we come upon the hovercrafts, huge and ominous in front of us in a garage bigger than the training center, one thought resonates through my mind.

_It's do or die._

* * *

**Codee Balister, 13, District Seven Male**

* * *

My heart won't stop hammering.

Cerise sits next to me, her black hair tied back into two sweet braids. Her lips are pursed in worry, and her palms are sweaty. She keeps wiping them on her pants.

"How are you doing?" I ask her, my voice full of cheer.

She gives me a look that I can't interpret, and sighs. "I-I'm fine. I really miss my parents. I wonder how they're doing…"

I hum in agreement. "I'm sure my family's getting along fine without me, but no doubt, they miss me. And I miss them, too. I just wish I could have five more minutes with them to give me some courage."

The hovercraft starts moving, but instead of outwardly showing fear like Cerise, I sit back in my chair, taking slow breaths. It's a practice I've used whenever my heart rate gets too high. That happens a lot. Usually it's after I've just dared my friend to run to the old hermit's house and back, and in turn, they dared me to do the same, but to knock on the door as well. It's adrenaline.

I might be reckless, but I have my tender times.

A man presents himself to me, a blue fabric mask over his mouth and nose and unruly eyebrows furrowed. "Your arm, please, tribute."

The word _tribute_ sticks in my mind. That's all I am to him – just another kid, soon to be a corpse on the ground of the arena with a knife in my ribs. He doesn't know anything about me, except maybe my name and district.

But then again, I don't really know anything about myself, either.

Uncomfortable, I offer up my arm, eyeing up the large needle that he holds out. To work down my uneasiness, I start chattering away, hoping that I will distract myself. "So, mister, how long have you been doing all this injection stuff? Two, three years? Scratch that. You look pretty competent. Ten years? Eleven?"

His ice blue eyes stare at me for a minute, perplexed. "Five," he says, his voice muffled through his mask.

I settle back in my chair, looking away as he moves the needle forward. When it pierces my skin, it feels hot, but I force myself not to squirm. I can be a brave guy.

"That looks painful," Cerise comments from beside me, a waver in her soft voice. "My parents never had the money to give me any vaccines or anything… I've never had a needle stuck in me."

I wait until the man takes the needle out, a light flashing blue underneath my skin. He pats the bead of blood dry with a small piece of cotton, then patches up the mark with a plaster. "It doesn't hurt that much." I say. "Just a hot little pinch. I'm sure you'll be fine, anyways – you're a whole lot braver than me."

Cerise's cheeks heat up in a rosy blush, and she peers out at me from behind her long eyelashes. It's so easy to make her happy. Low-maintenance. I somewhat feel bad for her. "Thank you, C-Codee…"

Her own injection goes by without much controversy, except she squeezes her eyelids real tight when the needle goes in, and there's sparkles in her eyes when the man puts on her plaster.

"You were very courageous," I comment. "And it didn't hurt, did it?" She doesn't answer at first, so I plod on. "Even though it really didn't, you're probably glad that your parents never took you to get them done back in District Five-"

She shocks me with a sudden ferocious glare. "Shut up about that, would you?" she snaps, the tears in her eyes quickly drying up. "You need to stay quiet sometimes, kid."

I blink in confusion, slightly hurt by her words.

But I don't want to offend her any more. So I take her advice, and simply gaze out onto the ground for the remainder of the flight.

We park in another big garage when we land, and Avoxes are there, two for each tribute, to take us to our dressing rooms. It's a big old maze of hallways, and my legs hurt from all the walking when I'm finally introduced to my room. My stylist, Calista, is already there.

"Codee!" she greets me with a warm hug. "Are you alright? What did you have for breakfast? Something healthy, I hope?"

Her maternal personality makes me smile. She reminds me of my own mom. "I had a bunch of pancakes and fresh fruit, with two glasses of milk," I announce proudly. "Healthy, healthy, healthy!"

She smiles sadly. "Anything else you want? There's some fizzy waters in the fridge, along with a couple dishes of cold soup or salads. If you want some, eat up – there's no promise of good food in the arena."

"I'm fine." I smile. "I have a feeling that I won't be very hungry in the moments to come."

Calista nods, moving around and fishing clothing out of bags. She folds them neatly, quickly, draping them over her arm, and hands them all to me. "Here."

I take the clothes, undressing behind a screen and sliding the new ones on. Comfortable denim jeans with a simple black leather belt. A jersey, solidly colored red, with the letter '7' in white on the front, back, and on the sleeves. A fleece jacket, also red, with a zipper in the front. To round out the look, simple white socks and sneakers with good gripping.

"Nothing about this outfit stands out," I holler loudly from behind the screen, still examining my body.

Calista gives me a sad look. "I'll miss you and your complaining, Codee."

Agonizing inutes pass of standing in silence, eyeing up the outfit and sighing over what it could mean. Finally Calista stands to the side, nodding towards the glass tube. No words need to be exchanged. Gripping my token – my lucky coin – I step inside it.

"Thank you for everything," I say, placing a hand against the glass. Calista just has time to put her hand on mine, separated by the barrier of glass, before my tube slowly starts rising.

The arena is laid out before me. The tiled floor is bright, illuminated by false lighting. On my left, Auriga rubs her hands together, and to my right is Kiah Devlan, looking positively shocked.

I've seen this place before, somewhere. But I can't think of it now.

And as the timer clicks down from 60 to 59, I have a feeling it won't matter much.

* * *

**A/N: Ex's and Oh's by Elle King.**

* * *

**Launch time, babes. I apologize if your tribute dies next chapter – for the most part, I adored each and every one of these tributes while they lasted. It wasn't the tributes that I struggled with. Just the normality of the SYOT. If that makes any sense.**

**I was thinking of summarizing, but I absolutely hate letting people down, and I was eager to do the arena, so in the end, writing each tribute one last time and skimming to the arena was the best option for me. I hope you all understand, and I apologize for not letting your tributes get to shine that much more.**

**But hey. Maybe I can make it up with a killer arena and a Games that will live in . . . . infamy. (Anybody get that reference?)**

**Alright, I'm blabbering. Once again, I'm sorry if your tribute gets their Adam's apple sliced next chapter, and I'm sorry for the Capitol cut short. But hey, at least you ain't getting a summary! (Except for a Capitol one - I'll post that next, with training scores and how alliances were formed and all that.)**

**A list of alliances is in order, too, since I'm sure they were confusing.. Some were formed off-screen, too, and I really apologize for that. When I post the Capitol summary next chapter, they'll be cleared up. - **

**_Auriga, Jude, Foster._  
_Quentyn, Ayden.  
Jazzlyn, Corton, Jada, Kelsier, Demetrius.  
Aegis, Silo.  
Klaus, Sutter.  
Cerise, Arika, Codee, Kaori.  
Kyran, Kiah, Solari.  
Eilat, Devyn, Caleigh._**

**Reviews would really be appreciated, especially with the bloodbath right after next chapter.**

* * *

**Questions!**

* * *

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Who do you want to die?**_

_**Who do you think will die?**_

_**Arena predictions?**_


	12. Pity Party

.

* * *

_**Welcome to the pity party, you can sit with me.  
**__**We're wicked sick, our minds are quick, it's how we like to be.**_

* * *

The Capitol had breezed by for most.

* * *

Kiah, with her humble personality and motivational ways, instantly found an alliance with her stammering district partner. After bumbling around the tribute banquet for a while, Kyran Venegas approached them, blushing profusely and stuttering almost as bad as Solari. He melted the hearts of the two from Eleven, and within minutes was invited to ally with them.

Silo Emmer and Aegis Crowley bonded over their similar personalities. While Aegis was more tricky and controlling over her emotions, Silo was the obvious brawn of the duo. Nobody dared approach them.

Corton, Jada, and Jazzlyn, the remaining three of the Career pack, were confused when the first group they approached – Caleigh and Foster – shot them down, calling them lapdogs and puppets. Corton, with his wicked ways and devilish mind, instantly made his way over to the pair from Nine, and with Jazzlyn's honest sweetness and Jada's lurking immorality, Kelsier and Demetrius were seduced into the alliance, closing the gap. Devyn was left behind after Corton declared her useless, never have trained before. The redhead stormed off, never once shedding a tear.

The littles stuck together – Cerise, Arika, Codee, and Kaori. They all brought something to the table. With Cerise it was her hardheaded ways and clinginess to the others. Arika bubbled over with charisma and toughness. Codee kept a smile no matter what. And Kaori had the grim outlook on everything – but something lurked beneath the surface, though nobody could much figure out what it was.

The next pair to be formed happened during training. While Sutter Pryce from District Eight was chucking spears, with a steady hand and an observant eye, Klaus Gavestone sleazed his way next to him, attracting him with sly words and a smile. Oblivious Sutter may have had the advantage on all the girls back home, but he was no match for the street smart Klaus.

Auriga and Jude stuck together – a power duo. Within moments of entering the training arena, Foster Carney approached them, gravely stuck out his hand, and didn't even wait for an invitation. All he said was that the toughest should band together. And they did.

Caleigh, however, had a rougher time finding her place. After mingling with Devyn, Corton's reject, the two girls just clicked. Eilat Closeau from District Seven was the third member of their alliance, blinking innocently and spouting wayward stories every ten seconds. They found her amusing, though annoying. Eilat smiled at their obliviousness to her lies.

The last alliance formed was Quentyn and Ayden. The two had a quiet sort of bond, almost brotherly. They were both pretty quiet and somewhat moody, and they both looked over the pretentiousness of the other Careers. It was a nice union.

* * *

Training sessions came and went.

* * *

Auriga scored a 8 for her skills with her words and a glimmering epee.

Quentyn didn't fare so well – he coined a 6, something unheard of. When asked about it by Pelly, he mumbled an excuse on how he felt ill and went to his room.

It was no big surprise when Jazzlyn got a stunning 10. Everybody had expected it, what with her show at the Reaping. Hand to hand combat was easier than breathing for her.

Corton matched her score of a 10, but when he was questioned on it, he only smirked.

Hateful Aegis got a 2, but there was no shock on the District Three floor. All she had done was throw a couple knives before plopping herself down on the ground, complaining.

Klaus, who had actually performed his knife skills diligently, received a 5. He was satisfied.

Jada Paquet was pleased to earn an 8. It wasn't the best score out there, but in no way was it the worst. It was all part of her plan, after all.

Ayden, meanwhile, matched Jada's score of an 8. He didn't care too much about training scores. He was tired.

Poor Cerise watched with a churning stomach as she received a 5. In the end, she had gone a bit insane on the dummies, eyes brimming over with tears with thoughts of her parents back home.

Nobody knew what to make of Jude's 4. For a rich boy who had allied with a Career, a high score was naturally expected. After gazing at the screen in distaste, Jude excused himself to go to his room, his hands searching his pockets fruitlessly for the familiar feeling of coins.

Arika had done rather well for a girl her age – a 6 was staggering for her. She danced with glee as she remembered that a Career had gotten the same score.

Kyran fared worse than his district partner with a 5. He didn't mind. He was typical, and a score proved it.

Eilat, however, was a wild card. There was silence on every tribute's lips as she received a glistening 11. An _11_. Even Eilat was surprised. She didn't think that sleeping with the Head Gamemaker the night previously would get her that good of a score. She was better in bed than she'd bragged.

Codee's score was a letdown, naturally – a 3 wasn't the worst score, but it was still enough for Codee to look down, his cheeks blazing, with cuss words hanging on his tongue. After Eilat's impressive 11, a 3 seemed so small.

Kaori watched with blazing eyes as a 4 popped up next to her name. That was the start. A small spark ignited in her chest, but she forced herself to stay calm.

Sutter got a regular score – just a 5. He wagged his eyebrows teasingly at Ashton, his mentor, but poor Ashton merely hung his head.

Satisfied with her score of an 8, Kelsier retreated into her room, remembering her stunning performance with a sickle.

Demetrius got a 7, which was more than he'd bargained for. Happy with his score, a warm fuzzy feeling inside his stomach, he smiled softly.

Devyn got a 5 – not bad for a girl who had never once touched a weapon before.

Silo was the second biggest surprise of the night. Everybody assumed since he was bulky and muscly, he'd score high. When a 3 popped up on the screen, heads turned his way. He shrugged, inwardly fuming and cussing out the drunk Gamemakers.

Kiah didn't do too bad – a 4 appeared by her picture, and she was content with that. She wasn't expecting much, anyways. She never had.

Stuttering Solari coined a 5 – not bad at all. He smiled down at his hands as Kiah congratulated him loudly, cheering at the top of her lungs.

Caleigh had stared blankly at the screen throughout all the scores, and her gaze remained the same when she received a 6.

Foster matched her score of a 6, and he wasn't surprised, either. He just sighed, already tired with the entire thing.

* * *

Interviews were monotonous for most. Tributes smiled. Tributes frowned. They laughed and they dissolved into tears when broken down about their past. Tess the interviewer was harsh – and though some embraced her cruelty, the youngest and most vulnerable were often left in tears.

* * *

Auriga was aloof, arrogant, and condescending when asked about her past. She didn't care about any of the questions about her allies. It was all about her _now_, and she drank up the attention. She flipped her hair left and right, scoffing most of the time.

Quentyn was unsurprisingly more quiet – he sure did seem to duck his head a lot. Once he got ruffled about a question. Tess fed on this, digging her nails in deeper. He only shrugged.

Jazzlyn was the first of the night to match Tess's skills. Bubbly and uncaring of what Tess said, she threw the sarcastic words back at the albino with a childish smile and innocent giggle. Tess was dumbfounded.

Corton had so much potential to be the snarkmaster to top even Jazzlyn's skills. Instead, he accepted everything Tess said with a small smirk. He didn't say a word the entire time, just nodded and raised his eyebrows.

Aegis the hothead was a sure candidate to get fed up easily. Within thirty seconds she was on her feet. But something restrained her. Her self-control was like a wild horse, on a reign which burned her hands. She sat down with gritted teeth, following Corton's example by staying silent.

Klaus just didn't care about a thing. He bantered with Tess for a good minute, before quickly becoming bored and slumping down in the chair, letting his eyes close for a quick snooze.

By Jada's turn, Tess was fuming. These tributes had all been jokes so far, except for maybe Aegis. Her feathers really got ruffled. The rest had been bored, sarcastic, quiet. But it was time for the Capitol-loved interviewer to up the ante. The Capitol needed a show, and Tess was all too eager to deliver.

Jada would not be an Aegis case. She smiled brazenly, coming back to Tess's insults and blatant flaming with the pleasantest comments one could imagine. But underneath her sugary sweet smile, she was gritting her teeth until one splintered. She hated this all. She wanted to be let free.

Ayden followed suit from his ally. He avoided eye contact and talked so quietly the microphone didn't quite pick up all his words. Tess dug in deep, and a single tear oozed from his eye. He was ashamed at letting her get to him.

Cerise was the third to be made a fool of. The poor girl made the mistake of letting Tess bring up her family. It took seconds for her to be a snuffling mess, memories of her family dancing in her head. Many wrote her off as a weak child, a girl who would never last long.

Jude felt lost without coins jingling in his pockets, but was cool throughout the whole thing. He kept his cool whenever asked a question, coming off as equable and collected, but his humorous persona kept him from seeming aloof. The audience was impressed. Tess even gave him an approving smile.

Arika provided a breath of fresh air for those who were weighed down by the heavy questions. She smiled through the entire thing, a sweet girl wearing a sweet dress with sweet blonde pigtails to emphasize her eternal youth. She never once let onto her dark past.

Kyran was plucky and nervous throughout his entire interview. Staggering past questions that he stammered through, he radiated apprehensiveness. Tess, of course, picked up on this and only made it worse for him by digging her nails in deep.

Eilat was surely a highlight. Even when Tess hurled insults at her, Eilat let out that goat-like chuckle of hers and bragged about her past experiences without fail, bringing up multiple boyfriends, hookups, friends, and even a girlfriend who Eilat claimed was the only one she was bisexual for.

Codee was similar to Eilat, but he didn't spin any tales. He was loud, he was reckless, he laughed throughout the entire thing, determined not to let Tess get under his skin. He was undefeatable, and Tess was impressed that such a young guy could be like that.

Kaori was eerily quiet throughout the whole thing. Her cherry blossom token tucked behind her ear, matching her fluffy pink dress, she stared at the floor most of the time, murmuring out quiet answers, a quiet fire blazing within.

Sutter injected a sense of uncomfort into his own interview. All Tess had to ask was the girlfriend question, and he was immediately stricken, his mind bringing up images of all the girls he had burned in his past.

Kelsier's interview was very smooth. She was visibly annoyed at some of the questions, but instead of retaliating, she slammed Tess with well-thought slights of her own. The audience was amused.

Demetrius was a wild card for the Capitol. They weren't sure what to make of the boy who remained so silent – would he finally speak up and make some sort of move? But he chose to remain quiet, answering questions with 'yes' or 'no' answers, gritting his teeth all the while.

Devyn was definitely affected by the interviews gone wrong over the course of the night. With a bright smile and confidence glistening in her big eyes, she chattered off Tess's ear, never once allowing the interviewer to ask her an embarrassing question.

Silo didn't want to follow suit of Aegis, who had lost her cool. She was his ally. He had to bring the Capitol's view of their alliance up. Charming, polite, although a little blunt and brash, Silo made his way through the interview, keeping little Rye and his mother in his mind the whole time.

Kiah was a sweetheart. Tess knew this. Tess wanted so badly to exploit her, to try and get a rise out of her. She didn't get it – Kiah was too smart. Even when questioned about a false affair, Kiah smiled gently, sidestepping all rumors.

Solari, the poor guy, didn't even need to be asked a question to be embarrassed. Tripping over his own big feet before he reached Tess, coming up with a bloody nose and damaged pride, he remained completely silent the whole time, not wanting to stammer through any more shame.

Caleigh, similar to Kelsier and Jada previously, was silently seething as Tess sent dig after dig to her wounded pride and past. Raising her eyebrows, letting the audience see how peeved she was, she sent snarky remark after clever insult to the albino interviewer.

Foster was a strange case. Though visibly very irritated, he didn't come up with anything clever to mask his distaste. Instead, he was visibly rebellious and fiery, laughing when Tess mentioned how honorable the Capitol was. His lips spewed forth slurs and angry words. The audience was left in utter shock as he left the stage.

After the interviews, true to Roland Sander's words, the tributes were led into a room, perhaps to pay for Foster's mouthy session, or perhaps just to mingle them together one last time. Aegis got curious as she moved around the room. Bottles were knocked over. Gas sprayed into the air, nearly blinding Ayden Navarro and getting deep into the nostrils of everybody else, causing the nerves that function the short-term memory to short out.

They couldn't remember anything. But maybe it was for the best.

After all, the arena was right around the corner.

* * *

**A/N: Pity Party by Maddy Ellwanger.**

* * *

**Basically a chapter describing how alliances came about, training scores, and interviews. All that was missed in the chapters that I would have done.**

**Mini shoutout to Maddy Ellwanger, my new favorite singer. She's so unknown, so grab her while she's young. Watch in two years as she's at the height of her fame. Lowkey predicting this.**

**Plus, I just updated TI, woah. Time to write a bloodbath AND a finale. My fav two chapters!**

**I take such good care of you guys. xo**

* * *

_**Questions**_**:**

**Basic thoughts?**


	13. In and Out of Time

**A/N: Do not skip to the bottom.**

* * *

_**Future is waiting, he's always pulling me;  
**__**and present's worth saving, but the past is haunting me.**_

* * *

**Jude Caswell, 18, District Five Male**

* * *

Diesel overwhelms my senses.

Plastering the sleeve of my jacket over my mouth and nose, trying to avoid the all-too-familiar smell, I gaze around, taking in everybody. To my left is Kaori, the young girl from Eight. To my right is Caleigh from Twelve. I see Auriga a few plates over, and Foster right next to her. I raise a hand, and they both catch my eye.

The Cornucopia is, quite literally, a sight for sore eyes. A display in the center of a sea of floor wax and expensive tiling, it shimmers, like a festival tent with long silver legs and shimmering embellishments. The weapons, backpacks, and food items are arranged by importance on the inside.

And then I look behind me.

It's an airport. Shops line the endless corridors behind me, and I catch a glimpse of a window line. Planes sprawl out on a bed of concrete, endless plastic and metal and manmade utilities.

Just my kind of place.

Cracking my knuckles, rolling my head around on my neck, I smile out at the tributes in front of me with verve and confidence. Giving off an air of ease, inside _and_ out.

_30._

The clock seems to tick down for infinity.

_20._

_10._

_9._

Time slows. I position myself, ready to run, rolling up the sleeves of my jacket. I'm aware of all my surroundings, from the airport structure around me to my engagement ring, burning its imprint onto my fourth finger.

_5._

_4._

_3._

_2._

Eilat makes a noise like a laughing goat.

_1._

The gong rings, echoing loudly in my ears. My legs push forward, feeling unused and ready. Adrenaline smacks me across the face. I spring to the Cornucopia, but before my journey completes, I quite literally butt heads with the girl from Twelve.

She spirals back, stupefied. Her brown-gold eyes are wide, frightened, before she furrows her brow and brings her fist up. It connects with my jaw, but there wasn't much power behind it. I wouldn't be surprised if it hurt her knuckles more than it did to me. Confused, I smack her ribs lightly, making her fall back again, before sprinting to the Cornucopia for the second time.

There's already tributes here. I feel as if it's already been picked over. Auriga and Foster are in a corner, whipping their heads around, searching for me. I feel as if I should have a warm heart right now from their companionship, but all I feel is adrenaline. I shout to them, dashing over, grinning.

"Why the hell are you _smiling_?" Auriga wrinkles her nose, disgusted. "Jude, you took forever to get here. I could have given _birth_ in the time it took you to get your stupid smiling self over here. Now let's go!"

"Don't you want to try and kill some-" I begin, but my words are cut short as I'm suddenly knocked to my feet. I choke, biting the linoleum, pain rushing to my gums.

"_Jude_!" I hear Auriga scream.

There's a sharp kick to my ribs. I hiss, curling up inside myself, instincts alerting me to protect my bones, my fragile internal organs. Another kick. And then… it stops.

I look up just in time to see Auriga spearing her district partner through the side with a long sword, Quentyn's eyes bugging, his mouth widening, and finally, his legs giving out. He slumps down on top of me, blood leeching out of his wound, staining my clothing.

I take Foster's hand and pull myself up, cradling my side carefully. Auriga stares at me with wild eyes. "We _need_ to go," she hisses.

At a loss for words, I stagger after her and Foster dumbly, leading me out of the chaos. "You… you just stabbed him," I mutter, feeling as if I've lost all sense in my mouth. "Like he was a piece of meat or something… like it was so easy…"

She looks at me bitterly. "In the end, isn't that all that we are?" she spits out. "Pieces of meat, ready to decompose?"

"That's morbid," Foster mopes.

"You're morbid," Auriga growls back, obviously not in the mood for bull.

I stare at the ground, at the shining linoleum. The worst of the fighting is behind us. Tributes are still battling it out with fists and with metal. Quentyn is dead. Auriga just saved my life. "Where to next?"

* * *

**Kaori Saito, 15, District Eight Female**

* * *

Arika is beside me in an instant.

"Where is Codee?" Her voice is frantic. "Where is Codee?"

I stare at her, slightly dumbfounded, wavering on the balls of my feet. "What about Cerise? Don't you care about her, too?"

She nods dismissively, waving her hand. "Yeah, Cerise. Of course I do, Kaori, but I saw her at the way beginning. And I trust her to take care of herself, you know? But I haven't seen Codee at all, and I'm _worried_. But where are they? I didn't see them…"

"I doubt they'd run into the bloodbath without us," I say, watching as Solari Cordova takes on Klaus Gaveston. Klaus is smaller but motivated. Solari is larger but obviously more gentle. The fight will end in a draw, seeing as neither of them has a weapon. I think Solari just wants to defend his district partner, a dwarf in comparison to his bulky physique. Klaus must have challenged them. "I mean-"

"Oh, God, there's Cerise!" Arika's voice is visibly full of relief. She's off before I know it, and I find myself running after her. Cerise is crouching by her plate, huddling over a small knapsack. She straightens when we come near her, however.

"There you guys are, I was looking," she says, obviously lying. Her voice is flat. I don't think it matters at the moment, though; Arika's now frantically scanning for her little friend Codee.

"I don't see him!" her voice is panicked. "Do you think somebody already got him?"

"He wouldn't let that happen…" I place a hand on her bony shoulder. "We'll find him. It will be fine."

Arika softens slightly, her big blue eyes full of pain and, strangely enough, gratefulness. "Thanks, Kaori. For assuring me."

I crack a fake smile. "No worries. It's what I'm here for."

Time flies by – seconds? Minutes? – and all of a sudden, Cerise has yelled out, and Codee is found, and Arika is bubbling over with energy.

That's the short version.

The long version would have to include how _loud_ Cerise yelled. And _how_ Codee was found. And how _much_ energy Arika had.

Because to be fair, if Cerise's voice had been a little lower, and if Codee wasn't discovered underneath Jazzlyn Li and Demetrius Blair, and if Arika hadn't been bouncing up and down in utter terror, let's be real, it would have made for a pretty sweet and sappy storybook.

"_Codee_!" Arika howls, dashing towards the boy. A death wish, clearly, since she's a good six inches shorter than Jazzlyn and isn't the one holding the long curved blade.

"Arika, _no_!" Cerise screams.

Jazzlyn looks up from Codee, her grip on the front of his jacket loosening as she sees us. Demetrius clings to her side, clutching at her elbow with wide eyes. Like a butcher's apprentice, about to watch his master expertly cut the throat of a young spring pig.

Arika springs forward, apparently not very hungry for pork.

In that moment I have to admire my ally's guts – certainly, I would have just left the boy to die. I mean, attachments, relationships_, blah, blah, blah,_ it all gets smudged in the end when the bodies start hitting the floor.

And I never really cared for Codee. Or Arika. Cerise is my closest companion here, but even so, I doubt I'd bat much of an eyelash if there's suddenly a knife in her throat.

Back in District Eight, it was the people who keeled over backwards for me, not me who keeled backwards for the people.

Maybe that's how I made so much change. I was blunt and to the point.

"Arika!" Codee's voice snaps me out of my sudden trance and I look up, hands gently folded around a knife of my own, and I watch as the blond idiot grabs Codee's hand. Touching, I'm sure, but stupid all the same.

Jazzlyn is prompt to slice the barrier between the two with her scythe. Demetrius gives a holler.

Arika screams, flailing backwards and waving her arm like it's on fire. A thin line of red is appearing on her wrist, but it's not much more than a blur. She's moving too frantically for me to see.

"K-Kaori!" she stammers out, tears dotting her eyes already. "Please… save C-Codee… for me… for our alliance!"

Blankness sets itself in my heart, just like always, and taking a sigh and a step forward, I start off towards Jazzlyn and Codee, already knowing the outcome of this.

I save the day. Jazzlyn is stunned by my trickery, giving us a chance to leave. Codee is rescued. It's robotic, it's consistent, it's fate. Luck follows me wherever I go. That's how I got to be so well-known in the district. The right people at the right times.

But will this be different?

Out of nowhere, Arika's sprung back with determination glittering in her eyes. She has a knife, and she's… she's charging. _Again_.

But this time, she doesn't miss her mark.

The knife finds a home in Demetrius Blair's neck, and before anybody can utter a word, the big boy is on the ground, choking, gagging, fingers scratching at his trachea, trying to find the blade. Arika's hands are still wrapped around the handle. She's screeching to leave Codee alone.

Demetrius is dead in seconds, his cannon's boom loud and threatening.

And so, I step up.

I gaze up at Jazzlyn, her darkened eyes intimidating me, glinting an evil black. Daring me to steal her prey away from her claws. She's a tiger, holding Codee captive, and I must be the fox – small, meek, but tricky.

"Try me, little girl," she says, but not unkindly.

Locking eyes with Codee briefly, I nod. "A fair fight? No weapons?"

Jazzlyn laughs. "If I'd wanted a fair fight," she says, "I would have set you against this boy." She grips him tighter, rattling her scythe against his neck. Codee's eyes bug out of his head, his lips quivering. "But I don't like being like this… sadistic, torturous. I mean, I'm not Corton," she adds with another laugh. "And I never wanted to do this… but all I want is to get home."

My heart suddenly hammers against my ribs, stunning me. I lurch forwards, desperate to prevent her from doing anything, when Codee's face tells me that I'm too late.

Blood trickling out of the wound in his neck, he slides to the ground, eyelids fluttering shut. Jazzlyn stands there, staring down at his limp body, her scythe held motionless in her hand.

Arika screams out a curse word. Cerise to her side can't tear her eyes away from our former ally, once so vibrant and brash and loud, now silenced permanently. Heat floods my cheeks, suddenly making me feel a lot hotter than I should be.

And then the voices start.

_You could have saved him._

_You were right there._

_You were selfish._

_You couldn't do it._

_You were too scared to confront her._

_You could have saved your ally._

_You could have kept your alliance together._

_You could have saved the day._

_You were too childish to do something brave for once._

_You were stupid._

_You were cowardly._

"Come on guys," I say, my voice wavering. I scoop a pack off the ground, not daring to look any more at Codee's collapsed body. I grab Arika's and Cerise's hands, blinking away a hot tear. "We need to get out of here."

My two allies bump into me as we run hand-in-hand, both crying, though Arika maybe louder than Cerise. I blink away the salty regrets, too, but maybe for a different reason.

I wasn't the one who held the blade to his throat and ripped his neck open, but I might as well have been. Now, because of my cowardice, a family will have lost their light. A boy will have lost his best friend. There will be a schoolroom with one missing student, forever.

My eyes darken with hate as we turn a corner, and the voices don't stop.

_You killed Codee._

_And you'll never forget it._

* * *

**Jada Paquet, 18, District Four Female**

* * *

_Rush._

Blood surges through my veins like gasoline, igniting my instincts like kindling. I watch Auriga spear Quentyn through the gut. I saw Jazzlyn shove a knife into a little kid's throat.

The other original Career femmes have made their kills.

Looks like it's my turn.

Corton's off somewhere stalking, and the pair from Nine are still at the Cornucopia, making small talk and combing through the weapons, so it's the best time to strike.

But first, to find the perfect victim.

Slinking about the masses of tributes that squirm, writhe, and squeal, I pick out one tribute from the crowd. Somewhat tall, with frizzy brown hair and striking facial features, mainly eyebrows, she looks somewhat panicked.

Eilat Closeau, the girl from Seven who got the dangerously high training score.

A smile creeps up to my lips and I slide towards her, finding a clearing in the center of the pandemonium. When I arrive by her side, her eyes widen a little bit, revealing brown eyes flecked with hazel, but she doesn't look surprised in any way. More like… apprehensive. Expecting. Is that competition I smell?

I nod to the spear clutched in her right hand, raising my eyebrows slightly. "You have a weapon."

"So do you." She points out my twin hatchets. "Unfair, isn't it, two weapons against one? Especially in a fight such as this?" A smirk. "I mean, me being a _lowly_ girl from one of the outlier districts. I bet you can't even remember my first name." She scoffs, shaking her head, never breaking eye contact. "Well, aside from that memory loss scramble. I bet you can't name a single thing about me other than my eyes are brown and I'm standing right in front of you."

"Of course I do." A creaky laugh makes its way up from my throat, rattling against my vocal chords. "You're Eilat Closeau, you're from District Seven, you're annoying as all hell, and you got that big, fat, shiny _11_ in training."

Eilat hums, impressed with me. The crowd surging around us has thinned considerably, but she doesn't seem to notice at all. Her eyes are still fixated on mine, unwavering. "Looks like Careers have some sort of brains to go with those fierce muscles." She reaches out a hand, pokes my bicep. I tense up. "Cute, Career, cute."

"Now look who's the fool here," I snort. "Doubt you'll care to say my name?"

She purses her lips, as if mulling over the question. "I could say your name," she says, "but I think I prefer the slur 'Career' instead. It really fits somebody like you."

Her jabs bounce off me. I could care less about the smack that this girl, Eilat Closeau, has to talk. I came here for a reason – elimination. I won't leave without achieving that goal.

I mean, I'm a Career for a reason, and it's not just for the sparkly things and heaping piles of money that await me if I make it out of here.

"Look, girl," I hiss. "You're stalling. You're scared. You don't want to fight me, do you?"

She raises her eyebrows, mock impressed. "You sure are the type of girl that a boy would want to take home to his parents, aren't you?" she deadpans. "Sweeter than a peach pie on the outside. Naughty and rotten as hell on the inside."

"You summed me up to a T," I laugh fakely. "And I don't think you're much different from me, sweetheart."

Rolling her eyes, she opens her mouth one last time to talk. "At least I have one thing."

"And what's that?"

Her eyes widen even more, eyelashes fluttering. Her mascara is clumpy.

With that one observation, I'm on the ground.

Moaning as my head smacks onto the linoleum, I curse myself for not noticing her spear coming down to whack my ankles, thus knocking me off my feet. I've trained my entire life for this one moment, and I get distracted by _makeup_? What kind of tribute _am_ I?

I grit my teeth.

Shallow or not, I'm a girl that knows what she wants and how to get it – and isn't afraid to bite back.

As Eilat chuckles her head off, sounding more and more like a goat with each peal of laughter, I bite down on my tongue, kicking my foot out. The bottom of my shoe connects with her shin. A scream erupts form her mouth, and before I know it, she's tumbling to the floor right after me.

"So you have the element of surprise, do you?" I snarl.

Now on my level again, Eilat's eyes are considerably softer. They glisten as she stares at me again. "I like to think so," she says simply.

It's really not that hard to wrestle myself on top of Eilat, straddling her stomach and pinning her to the ground. She might be able to talk the talk, but she can't follow up with much. Her muscles are nonexistent, her instincts shot. How did she get an 11? It doesn't matter anymore.

One blow to the temple, and this girl will be history.

Out of nowhere, Corton comes barreling into me. He's dueling – and the flashing eyes declare his opponent as my district partner, Ayden Navarro. I keep Eilat's wrists locked above her head as I duck, the two boys rolling over Eilat and I, duking it out.

There's suddenly stillness, a loud crack, and a howl.

Corton stands, victorious, blood trickling down one nostril into his grin, staining the cracks that divide his teeth. Ayden dangles from his hands like a trophy, his snapped neck and blank eyes declaring his death.

"Your turn, Jada," Corton says wickedly before he drops the corpse at his feet, cracks his knuckles, and sprints away.

He's right.

My turn.

But as I lower one of my hatchets, ready to deliver the final chop that will end her life, I feel something tugging back on my arm.

_Humanity._

When I look down at Eilat, I don't just see a stupid girl, sneering even in the face of death. I see memories. A mother cradling her baby girl in her arms, adorned with a little pink hat and wrinkled fingers. A toddler in pigtails, running and screaming with laughter as her friends chase her. A child awkwardly stuck between adolescence and teendom, with zits coating her face and eyes darting nervously. And then I see the girl she is now – reckless, unrelenting, brave.

And no matter how many times I try to swing the weapon towards her head, waiting for the blade to crush against her skull in an explosion of bone and brains and blood, it never happens.

I can't do it. I can't kill.

I just _can't_.

I get up, disgusted with myself. Eilat's confused – her face shows that.

"Get up!" I snarl, angry. I kick at her, finding her hip. That jolts her up. Now she's on her feet and laughing, eyes wide with the realization that I physically can't kill.

"Not so high and mighty now, are we, Jada?" she crows, prancing in front of me for a good moment, before darting away.

* * *

**Sutter Pryce, 17, District Eight Male**

* * *

Two kills.

There are only two bodies littering the ground as I run around, backpack jouncing with each step. My only ally is nowhere to be found, even though he was just two plates away from me when we arrived, and I'm starting to panic, despite being larger than half these tributes and owning a machete to my name. I could leave now. I could run from the Cornucopia, get a fantastic lead on everybody.

But I'm not abandoning Klaus like that.

It'd remind me too much of the girls who I left – their sad eyes watching me after each venture, hastily throwing on a shirt and nodding goodbye. Klaus isn't nearly like them in appearance – but to me, it's symbolic, in some sort of way.

And I did promise my best friend that I'd stop.

That has to count for something.

"Klaus!" I bellow for the umpteenth time, circling around Kyran Venegas, not thinking much of it.

But all of a sudden, I'm tugged back. I flail backwards, dragged by the sleeve.

Kyran's scared brown eyes stare directly into mine. His mouth quivers, a small cut just to the side of it. In his hands, a sickle jangles around, obviously spurred by his nervousness.

"Are you kidding me, man?" I groan.

He shakes his head, more hyped up than a small animal on caffeine. "I… I…"

"You need to do this, because you need to survive, blah, blah, blah." I roll my eyes, grip tightening around the machete. "But you know what, dude? Some people wanna make it out of here without being dismembered, and one of those people is me. You could've just left me alone!"

Kyran shakes his head again, now averting his gaze. "If I just k-kill you, then I can get s-sponsors, and…"

"_Uuuugh_!" I whine, genuinely upset by this. "Dude, it's literally five minutes in! If this was, like, day three or something and you needed water and stuff, then I'd understand. But five minutes! Kyran! _What_ is going through your _head_?"

"K-Kiah told me…" He looks down, ashamed. "She told me that I needed to b-be brave… and I'm going to be brave for her…"

"Good job," I snark. "You're a knight in shining armor for your cute little girlfriend. You go, dude, really. I mean it. Now can I please just _leave_? I don't want a fight, and I doubt that you do, either-"

Before I know it, I'm being shoved again, and I'm completely surprised by this move, too. The little guy bodyslammed me!

Hollering out a swear to Kyran, I swivel back, both confused and dazed. I can't control my movements. I feel like I'm in a haze of fog, clouding my mind and my vision.

Like the things I see next.

One second, there's Kyran, standing tall, his eyebrows furrowed together in puzzlement.

The next moment, he's still standing tall, legs rigid, but his head… it's _gone_.

And then he crumples to the ground.

I feel like somebody punched me in the stomach, hard. I stare down at his limp body, and then at the dismembered head lying not too far from it. My gaze finally drifts to the machete in my hand, white knuckles still wrapped in a death hold on it.

I feel like the world underneath me is shattering. Before I know it, Kiah is right there, weeping, her body convulsing over and over and over and over, and it all sucks and everything is sick and I feel so ill. The world is spinning and I'm the cause of it; I'm a hurricane and Kiah and Kyran are to be swept away. I beheaded Kyran and now I must pay the price. It's all grey and my stomach hurts so much.

"Why did you kill him?" sobs Kiah, snot mingling with her tears unattractively. She swipes at her cheeks with her palms, as if trying to scrub off her skin. "He did nothing to-"

"Maybe you didn't see it," I howl back at her, feeling out of control and stupid. "He… he charged me and…"

Kiah sniffles loudly, nodding her head. I can't erase the picture of her huge hazel eyes, unrelenting, just staring at me. No matter how many times I run the situation over in my mind, reminding myself that Kyran charged at me, and that he deserved what was coming, I just can't seem to repent.

Sometime during this Klaus shows up, pulls my sleeve to get me out of there. I don't take in his smarmy smile or flickering eyes, like a lizard. All I can think of is the way Kiah looked at me; like I'd just destroyed her entire world.

But it _wasn't_ my _fault_.

I'm _not_ a bad person.

* * *

**Caleigh Herier, 18, District Twelve Female**

* * *

I'm terrified as I run through the chaos. Being afraid never was my style; but here, now that I'm actually thrown into the midst of the thing that I had been reverent to my entire life, everything seems so much more real than it had seemed before, on the silver screen in District Twelve's town square.

Where is Eilat? Where is Devyn? I even would settle for Foster at this point. All I want is a friendly face – or at the very least, a familiar one.

It seems nothing was going my way.

And then I run into Eilat.

"Eilat!" I cry, dashing to the open arms of my ally, not even caring if I seem desperate or overeager. Who cares about seeming pitiful when you're in a real-live _bloodbath_, for heaven's sakes?

And Eilat turns, and she stares.

"You wanna know what happened?" she shrieks, immediately glad to see her friend. _Me_. "Jada – that freak from Four – she had me pinned to the ground, blade against my throat and everything, and she let me go!"

I shake her head, staring at Eilat. "What-"

"Hey, now!" Eilat screeches out, grabbing me by the hair and tugging me to the side. I whip my head to see a knife whizzing by with a clean whistle, followed by a very unhappy-looking girl from Two.

"You're welcome, you know," adds Eilat just after the knife implants itself into the Cornucopia, striking metal with a loud clang. "Without me, you would've been deader than a rat on a road."

Wrinkling my nose slightly at the unknown allusion, I manage a small smile of gratitude for her friend. "Thank you. I mean, I coulda done it myself-" I roll my eyes, telling Eilat that the gesture was really quite unnecessary, "but thank you, for your efforts and everything."

The girl from Seven frowns, the cogs in her brain spinning. "What do you mean, you could have done it yourself?"

I have no time to answer as our redheaded ally soon jogs up, bearing a large knapsack and a long, curved hunting knife. "Girls!" Devyn sings out, swishing the knife in the air like it was a simple toy. "How are you two doing today? Oh -_ me? _I'm fine," she says with a wink, "better than _ever_."

This time, both me and Eilat frown, most likely at the pretentiousness of the girl from Ten. "I see you made out like a bandit," I mention sourly, envious over the younger girl's rewards.

"What?" Devyn giggles, dipping the glimmering blade through the air once more. "Are you _jealous_ of my fine pickings?"

"Not at all," I reply caustically, looking away so the redhead couldn't see the green in my eyes. "Now come on, we have work to do, plus, standing in the middle of the bloodbath won't get us anywhere. Let's go to that escalator over there – it's a good distance away."

As we start walking, Devyn tries to crack another joke. "You sure you're not _jealous_ that I am clearly the superior, carrying this alliance's whole weight on my bony little back?"

It would have been so easy for me to smile, shaking my head and taking the joke. But it isn't something that came naturally to me. I take _everything_ seriously. Instead, I try a forced laugh, attempting to retain my sense of normalcy as I speak. "Not at all," I say ominously.

Something was wrong.

"No, no," Eilat interjects, poking her long nose in places she shouldn't have – as per usual. Was it ruffled feelings over my flippant remark to her saving my life just a moment ago? Was it general pent-up anger?

Only Eilat knows the answer.

"Answer her," she demands, eyes flickering from me to Devyn. "I mean, blowing people off – really seems to tick some people off, now, doesn't it, Caleigh?"

Shifting uncomfortably, I shrug. I hate admitting my weaknesses. It was something O have been brought up upon – that showing the slightest bit of vulnerability would cause downfall. Jealousy is just one of the many dirty sins I've harbored over the years, and it seems as if Eilat wanted to extract that naughty part of me as quickly as possible.

"I'm _not_ jealous." My voice seems unsure, wavery.

Devyn laughs now, uneasy. "Hey, Eilat, it's fine, I was just teasing."

But just as I had been brought up on morals of strength and aloofness, Eilat had been brought up on trashy values and questionable nursery rhymes. It was like she was designed to bring out the worst in people.

Inching closer, Eilat shakes her head, frown deepening. "Tell me the truth, Caleigh," she urges. "That's what our alliance was built on, right? Honesty."

I can tell that the girl was just trying to waste my time, and I would have none of it. You need to attain leadership, after all, or those in your crew will start to mess around. That's what's happening here, clearly. "Screw off, Eilat," I spit out, holding my head high and trying to stride off with my dignity intact.

Her flair for the dramatics rising like a thermometer in heat, Eilat gasps from behind me, clutching at her heart. "Screw-? Me? Screw- _off_?" she chokes out, staggering around. I roll her eyes at her foolish display. Devyn bites her lip, wanting to take it as a joke, but unable.

"Stop being such a waste and help us think of a place to go next," I snap, angry.

But that was the last straw. Eilat needed attention, and without it…

The girl from Seven snatches the hunting knife right out of Devyn's hands. "You know what?" she seethes angrily. "I've been sick of your attitude ever since we came into the arena."

"We were dropped down here five minutes ago," I speak levelly, eyeing up the knife. My heart patters quickly against my ribs. "Eilat… why the… knife?"

"I _said_," Eilat breathes dangerously, "that I was _sick_ of your _attitude_."

I laugh nervously. "Our memories were erased," I say. "How could you possibly already be sick of my attitude?"

"With the way you're acting, it's easy!" shoots back Eilat, eyes glittering black.

I could have left it there. I could have given up the ghost, and let Eilat win the stupid little spat.

But that's just not how I was made.

I swear at her.

Breathing in, ready to spit back yet another scathing remark, Eilat is suddenly on top of me, sending my body crashing to the ground, skull smacking against the linoleum. Devyn screams. Eilat's hand slams against my windpipe and I gag, tasting the pancakes that I had this morning. All Eilat tastes, however, is a thirst for blood. She's on a high, fueled by her high-strung temper. Eilat is a phoenix, rising from the ashes, ready to strike on her prey.

And then she descends.

When the knife bites into my torso the first time, it's not even there. There isn't really a blade slashing through my shirt, staining the fabric of the fleece jacket in a sticky red substance. It is nothing more than a dream. An illusion.

But then why, oh why, does it feel so real the next five times?

* * *

**A/N: In and Out of Time by Colton Dixon.**

* * *

_**24th – Quentyn Allard, District One Male.**_

_**23rd – Demetrius Blair, District Nine Male.**_

_**22nd – Codee Balister, District Seven Male.**_

_**21st – Ayden Navarro, District Four Male.**_

_**20th – Kyran Venegas, District Six Male.**_

_**19th – Caleigh Herier, District Twelve Female.**_

* * *

**Remus, Quentyn was a repeat, so I can't say much in his honor. But hey, if you wanna see 'Quentyn' in action still, head on over to '**_**Oblivion'**_** by felicitea to see if this dime can't crawl out of 24th place **_**again**_**, in the form of 'Allude from D-1'!**

**Jalen, Demetrius was… confusing. I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. He's like that one greasy boy in school who never really brushes his hair, and he has a mustache, sort of, and he wears the same four t-shirts everyday, and you are super nice to him just in case he shoots up the school one day. I'm joking. But Demetrius was hard to figure out, just like that one greasy white boy. Rest in peace, D-Baby!**

**Sarah, Codee was very boisterous and sweet and not at all hard to figure out. In the end, though, there's nothing that the Games love more than an adorable bloodbath. Codee offered that, both for the Capitol's sake and for the sake of his allies. I feel like Codee was literally you, had you been a black thirteen-year-old boy. Ugh, Sarah, though, he was adorable.**

**Heather, Ayden was something of a special tribute for me, since he represented both wisdom and confusion at the same time. He reminded me of a friend I once had, but in the end, that friend met a similar end to Ayden. No, I'm totally joking, that would be horrid. But yeah, thanks for submitting, have a fab day over in Scottland or wherever you are ;***

**Sofia, Kyran was, needless to say, most people's favorite. One POV in, and they were sold. It's just like with Prosper, and Lynch, and Arial, and ugh, you can't help but make the crowd favorites. Unfortunately, Kyran was difficult for me to interpret, and in the end, I felt as if I wasn't doing him enough justice. RIP Ky-Ky the beyotch ;/**

**Jake, you're not even reading anymore so why am I writing this. Caleigh was, much like Demetrius, somebody that I ultimately struggled with, and I couldn't see much of a plot for her outside of this. (down-low? I hated her don't blame me kiss kiss.) Oh no! What's this? Jakey Trimz **_**finally**_** gets a bloodbath/rejection from one of his friends? Oh NO! It's Devils and Dust all over again! (But honestly, Jake, stay safe in uni, don't get too krunk, love ya babe)**

* * *

**why the heck did i kill all the guys. why nevergone4ever why?**

**bc I'm super fake we all know this.**

**Honestly I'm losing motivation by the second. I literally have a summary typed up, ready to be sent off, but I wanna go out with a bang, unlike some faux people on here (Corey, I'm looking at you. FAKE.) **

**So, yeah, bear with me for a couple more painful chapters.**

**And reviews are still appreciated ;/ thANK**

* * *

**Questionzzzzz**

* * *

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Thoughts on each death?**_

_**Do I still have that ol' razzle-dazzle?**_


	14. Beautiful Pain

.

* * *

_**I'm standing in the flames, it's a beautiful kind of pain.  
**__**Setting fire to yesterday, find the light, find the light, find the light.**_

* * *

**Day One Night**

* * *

Jude, Auriga, and Foster were nothing close to the dream team. They fought just like everybody else. Auriga kept yelling at Jude for thrashing his hands around his pockets too much, and she yelled at Foster for being generally sour.

Foster didn't say much in his own defense, but growled and glowered at the girl as the first day wore on. Jude was similar, opting out of a potential fight with an uneasy smile. The things that their female ally got mad at were menial, and if a war could be avoided with ignorance, then that was the route they'd both choose to go down.

The day, however, wore on with tension. They found a nice roost to spend the night in a restroom that Foster barricaded with two trashcans, and by the lighting of fluorescent lights, they made a meal out of smoothies and sandwiches snatched from a nearby restaurant.

Everything was fine. The trio was making small talk, nodding to each other, but paranoia crept up on each one of them, crawling up their backs with long fingernails and words of suspicion.

Finally somebody decided to say something.

"I don't know what I would do if somebody walked in on us in here," Jude said, half-laughing.

"You'd die, most likely," Auriga snorted.

Foster joined in with an eye roll. "How are you so fast to know he'd die?"

"I can sense these things in people," she replied quickly.

Foster rose up, his argument more sound and sure than hers as they continued bickering. Jude sat quietly on the ground, back pressed against a trashcan.

"I can tell that you'd die fast, too," Auriga spat at Foster. "_Look_ at you. A weakling from District Twelve, just like all the others. You're outer district scum who's never touched a weapon in your life. You'd have to be blind not to know how to kill if you were from One."

"Because you all get spears mailed right to your doors when you're three!" Foster cried out.

"Not true," Auriga said sullenly.

The night wore on with tension and unrest, and the trio alternated between shifts. Auriga's thoughts were filled with flurries of paranoia and stress both.

_It'd be so easy,_ she thought to herself. _Just to end Foster right now and get him out of the way. He wasn't the one I wanted, anyways, and he's only making my life more difficult. I only wanted Jude. And who cares about tearing our alliance apart early on? Drama doesn't get you killed, it gets you sponsors. Support. Life._

It'd be so _easy_.

It was even easier, she discovered, to rip a knife across Foster's throat, throw the blade down a sink, and pretend to be fast asleep as the cannon blasted Jude awake.

* * *

_18th- Foster Carney, District Twelve Male._

* * *

**Day Two**

* * *

Aegis and Silo had found relief in a restaurant stall for the night, Aegis curled up under a sink, and Silo resting next to an oven. They had both tossed and turned throughout the night, but neither would admit it. Scrounging around in the fridge and finding some fixings to eat, they moved on.

It didn't take them long to find another alliance, not long at all; and by complete accident, of course.

Arika, Kaori, and Cerise had made camp in a neighboring restaurant stall, drawn by the allure of a warm oven to snuggle up to. Groggy, disheveled, they were panicked when they saw the two older tributes sliding in, looking around for anything to help them.

"What do we do?" squeaked out Cerise, half-terrified.

Kaori was mechanic as she reached for her axe, her lips set in a firm straight line. "There's only one thing to do."

Arika seemed to be the only voice of reason. "But they're so much older!" she growled. "The girl's seventeen and the guy is eighteen, and just _one_ of them could take all three of us down!"

"Then we've got to divide and conquer," Kaori laughed out bitterly, quietly. Her glittering eyes stared at the redhead, straying further and further from her larger comrade, lips parted slightly as she puzzled over a spatula.

Before Cerise or Arika could utter another word, Kaori was up, slinking in the shadows that the large pieces of machinery provided, axe clutched in her two small, cold hands.

"What do we do?" Cerise hissed, her fear quickly being replaced by apprehension.

Arika didn't say anything. Instead, Cerise glanced over and found her digging in the knapsack, searching, digging until she pulled out a singular item.

A small silver sword.

"What do you think you're doing?" breathed Cerise, making sure to be quiet as she whipped her head back and forth from Arika standing up, to Kaori pressing herself against a steel fridge, not five feet from the redheaded victim.

"When somebody falls, be it somebody from this alliance or theirs, you run. No matter what, we all need to book it out of here." Arika's eyes looked a thousand years older as she locked gazes with Cerise, then broke it off quickly. "I… I didn't want to do this. Not so early, I mean."

"I have faith in you…" Cerise tightened her grip on a strap of the backpack. "Please be safe…"

Arika gave a feeble laugh, whipping her head back to make sure Aegis was still distracted. "See you in a bit, I hope."

Cerise could only watch in blank desperation as Arika followed Kaori's footsteps, meeting up with the small Eight girl behind the steel fridge. The two exchanged a look, glancing at each other's weapons, and their stares turned to Aegis.

Silo called something out, how he'd be back in a moment. Aegis turned her head, said something scathingly snarky in return, and turned her attention back to the kitchen cutlery.

The two younger girls pounced.

It was almost painful to watch. Aegis's head smacked against the hard flooring in an instant, and moaning, she tried to come up for air. Kaori was relentless and Arika was a willing apprentice. Flipping the older girl onto her back, Kaori straddled her chest, grabbed her head by a single red braid, and brought it down on the ground again with a sickening crack.

Cerise's heart pounded a mile a minute and she covered her eyes.

That way she didn't have to see the lifelessness in Aegis's dark brown eyes. The way her lips moved without air, whispering for mercy, as much as she would have liked to scream and shout for vengeance. The way Cerise's mouth turned down the tiniest bit as Kaori reached for her axe. The way Aegis was a pinned animal, pressed to the ground, unable to move even when the axe drove itself through her neck.

And even when Cerise uncovered her eyes, trembling and shaking and thinking of her parents, completely numb, yet terrified, she didn't look over at the body, didn't look at the ring of blood pooling around Aegis's limp body. She only saw Arika reaching her hand out, and she only saw her own two feet, fleeing from the scene of the crime as a cannon rocketed out over the entire arena.

* * *

_17th- Aegis Crowley, District Three Female._

* * *

The rest of the day was relatively quiet.

Silo, after discovering his ally's dead body, raided her corpse for their shared loot and went into hiding in yet another nearby restaurant.

Kiah and Solari hid out in a bathroom. Maybe they'd have better luck than Jude, Auriga, and Foster.

Kelsier, Jada, Corton, and Jazzlyn hung in an uncomfortable balance. Their day was quiet, stalking around for tributes without much success. A glimpse here, a sound there, but no real progress.

The deaths were about to get faster, faster, faster. The time spent on Aegis and Foster's deaths would not exist. These Games were going to be brisker than anybody had expected.

* * *

**Day Three**

* * *

The Careers were in a rift. Corton and Kelsier wanted to seek out tributes. Jada and Jazzlyn thought it'd be better to stay put. Words were exchanged. Kelsier got a knife in her forearm. Jada narrowly avoided a sword. Corton got upset, and, in his rage, smashed a mace over Jazzlyn's head.

With that, Jada fled.

* * *

_16th- Jazzlyn Li, District Two Female._

* * *

Silo was alone. He wanted vengeance over the early death of his promising ally. Armed with a couple knives, he looked for Aegis's murderers, but wound up in the claws of Auriga, who silenced him rather quickly. One of the biggest threats in the game fell the hardest.

* * *

_15th- Silo Emmer, District Ten Male._

* * *

Jude couldn't stand the person that Auriga had become, and after she slit Silo's throat, he confronted her. She yelled at him for being a wimp who came to the Games unprepared. Jude did nothing but stare at her, yelling about how she didn't have to make it so easy for these kids to die. He might have been arrogant, rich, greedy, but he was still human, and he still recognized something right from wrong.

He overpowered Auriga – she always had been smaller than him. As she spit upwards at him, he gashed her throat open.

* * *

_14th- Auriga Lefleur, District One Female._

* * *

Corton and Kelsier, still brewing from Jada's disappearance and Jazzlyn's rapid death, hung in an uneasy balance for the remainder of Day Three. Nighttime fell over the airport, and the two nestled in a juice bar next to a glassy window wall that looked over a runway of planes.

Kelsier was afraid now. She should have run with Jada while she had the chance.

Corton heard knives tinkling, and as she bent down while he was supposedly sleeping, he pounced, overpowering her and bringing her head down on the floor, hard.

* * *

_13th- Kelsier Arkell, District Nine Female._

* * *

**Day Four**

* * *

Kaori and Arika hadn't found Cerise yet. They had wandered the entirety of the previous day with no success. They did, however, find Klaus and Sutter.

Klaus was slimy. Sutter was cowardly. Kaori was malicious. Arika was willing.

It would be a good fight.

Kaori tussled with Klaus, and Arika took on Sutter. Klaus had the obvious advantage over Kaori, but Sutter parried with Arika, and she was able to reason with him – he'd get to save his own skin if he handed over his stronger ally.

And, for reasons unknown, Sutter nodded willingly.

Three on one. Klaus was shot down within a minute, and in the end, it was Kaori dragging her knife across his neck.

* * *

_12th- Klaus Gaveston, District Three Male._

* * *

Devyn and Eilat, much like other certain alliances, were uncomfortable. Devyn was no coward, but she was terrified of Eilat and what she could now achieve. Caleigh should have been a warning for the girl from Ten to run. But if Devyn was one thing, she was strong.

And as she made the wrong decision to stay with Eilat, she rode that decision out strongly.

Eilat stirred the pot. She made comments and digs about Devyn's appearance and voice. Those Devyn could handle, and she poked fun at Eilat's eyebrows and fable-like backstory. The girl from Seven, however, stupidly took them personally, and the two were soon at each other's necks.

And somehow, the idiot girl with the laugh like a goat came out on top, digging her hatchet deep into Devyn's chest.

* * *

_11th- Devyn Aldion, District Ten Female._

* * *

Kaori had separated from her group. They had argued. The young girl from Eight had wanted to kill. Sutter and Arika were unrelenting. With a nod to each of them and a small sigh, the dark girl had plodded off on her own.

She knew that she could win and make Eight proud again. They hadn't seen a formidable victor in so long.

She wanted to see victory. She wanted to see herself rise to the top.

But instead, Kaori found herself staring at the sleeping body of Jude Caswell, hidden, ironically, in a foreign money booth.

It was too easy to shove the hatchet up his ribcage and steal the last few coins that were nestled in his pockets.

* * *

_10th- Jude Caswell, District Five Male._

* * *

Day Four dragged on after Jude's cannon erupted. Cerise wondered how her parents were faring without her. Arika and Sutter indulged themselves in a donut shop. Corton received a sponsor gift. Jada slept most of the day away, though nightmares didn't leave her alone. Kaori jingled her new coins and watched for other tributes. Kiah and Solari talked within their little hideout. And cocky Eilat, delighted with her new kill, strolled the halls of the massive airport without a fear in the world.

There was almost a sense of peace.

* * *

**Day Five**

* * *

Nothing lasts forever, not even the bravest of the brave.

Corton and Jada butted heads when Jada was raiding a clothing store where Corton happened to be roosting. He couldn't believe her luck – and in Jada's case, lack of it. She knew it'd be difficult to kill him. Eilat's jeering face from when she couldn't quite do it resounded in her mind.

But she had to.

No matter how difficult it was.

Parrying, teasingly at first, and then more insistent, Corton found his dueling match. Their swords collided numerous times, and all of a sudden he found himself pressed up against a mannequin.

"You're good at this," he chuckled.

Jada's face was set, and as he started ducking out of the way, she sliced.

Jada was top of her class and her newfound motivation was shoving her to do the deed. Did anybody really expect her to miss, even with the most manipulative boy in the Games right in front of her?

* * *

_9th- Corton Paventi, District Two Male._

* * *

Before his death, as Jada had pressed him up to a mannequin, Corton had slipped inside the baggy pockets a small device. Jada didn't notice it ticking down as she went back to her raiding of the clothing store. Within five minutes, Corton's special sponsor gift erupted throughout the large store.

* * *

_8th- Jada Paquet, District Four Female._

* * *

**Day Six**

* * *

Hiding had seemed to be the best opportunity for them. But the Gamemakers were bored. Now going on a week of the Games, they had done nothing throughout the course of the Games except for hide. Directing the newfound duo of Arika and Sutter towards their restroom, they found each other.

Kiah and Solari wouldn't kill children. Not even to save their own asses.

They pleaded. Not with the girl from Six and the boy from Eight, but with sponsors. Two suicide pills. Two nightlock berries. A gun with two bullets. Anything painless, not a wicked way to go.

And somewhere within District Eleven, their prayers were answered.

A single basket popped out of the ceiling, coming through a ceiling tile. A surprised Sutter caught it and forked it over to the pair from Eleven. It was almost gorgeously tragic, to see the beautiful pain and agony of the two best friends who just wanted to get out together.

They had bonded. They had become best friends, even without Kyran. They didn't want to imagine life without each other.

The capsules were in their mouths, dissolving on their tongues, and Arika and Sutter watched as they sunk to the ground, eyelids fluttering shut.

It was almost reminiscent of something.

District Eleven, despite having sent the pills, were in shock. They weren't even injured. They probably would have won the fight against the younger tributes.

But that's just the thing – Kiah and Solari were never fighters.

* * *

_7th- Kiah Devlan, District Eleven Female._

_6th- Solari Cordova, District Eleven Male._

* * *

**Day Seven**

* * *

Eilat was still roaming the halls. Having seen no action since Day Four, she was upset, and she wanted a new kill. She wanted some action, or at the very least, she wanted to talk to somebody.

Cerise was nestled under a chair, gazing out a window at the airplanes. It had begun to snow, and she was daresay enjoying herself, watching the fluffy flakes drift down and coat the ground. She knew she should have been hiding, but she had been so cramped hiding under a service desk for the past day.

The girl from Seven had good eyes, though they were masked under those wretched eyebrows.

With a cry of delight, she ran over to Cerise, who had heard her footsteps even before Eilat squealed. Eilat presumed her an easy kill. She underestimated Cerise, just had everybody else had in the past.

She never expected the small girl to whip around at the last moment, sending a dagger shooting straight for her chest.

It had been a shot in the dark for Cerise. The girl behind her could have been a Career or a past ally, and she wouldn't have cared.

As Eilat fell to the ground, a dagger impaled in her right lung, Cerise stabbed again.

It was the death worth telling, which Eilat's friends would recite over and over as a fairytale for years to come.

* * *

_5th- Eilat Closeau, District Seven Female._

* * *

With the final four now declared, the Capitol was restless. They had never expected these four. They had wanted Corton, Kelsier, Caleigh. They didn't want the three youngest girls and a coward who killed a crowd favorite at the beginning. Nevertheless, bets were made. Sutter, clearly, was the crowd favorite for being oldest.

That isn't to say that the three girls also didn't get considerable support simply for appeal.

Arika and Sutter were a strong duo. Cerise had made a kill, and didn't feel a tinge of regret. Kaori had become an entirely new girl. Everybody had lost themselves within the airport. It was simply a matter of time before one of them would emerge, and reinvent themselves again.

* * *

**Day Eight**

* * *

The final day of the Games saw angst.

Kaori had run into Arika and Sutter, her old trio. Without a single word from the girl from Eight, she charged them. Arika was shocked, thinking her old friend would at least say hello. Sutter was unprepared.

Yet somehow, it was Kaori, the smallest of all four, that ended up on the ground, thanks to a knock over the head by her district partner.

But who would claim the kill?

"I wanted you and me to work, Kaori," Arika said with sad eyes, kneeling over the young girl. "You and me as allies – we were so good. I think we would have been really, really good friends if these weren't the circumstances." She shook her head. "This is all my fault."

Kaori's blackened eyes gazed up at her, devoid of any hope or light. "You can't blame yourself for these things," she muttered. "It was me who lost my wits and broke up our alliance. None of this was on you, Arika."

"I just…" Arika shook her head again, sighing. "I wish things could have been different."

In the end, it was Sutter who drove the knife into Kaori's throat. Arika would have never had the guts.

* * *

_4th- Kaori Saito, District Eight Female._

* * *

Now down to the final three, Sutter and Arika hovered uncertainly over Kaori's corpse.

"What do we do now?" Arika asked.

"There's one more person out there," Sutter said. "I know we aren't the last two."

"What do we do, then?" Arika repeated. "Do we stay together, and fight Cerise together? Or do we get it over with now, so we don't have to come down to the very end and have to fight each other for real?"

"One of us would have a better chance of winning if we faced her together," Sutter replied grimly.

"But I don't want it to come to that," said Arika. She bit her lip, staring down at Kaori's limp form. "I… I want it to be fair for all of us. I respect Cerise."

Sutter scratched his head. He didn't want Arika to keep repeating the girl's name. He just wanted to forget that there was yet another girl out there, one who would either have to kill or be killed. "Then let's fight now. Get it over with."

"Is that what you want?"

Sutter looked up, surprised.

He didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know.

But if there was one thing he did know, it was that he could lie.

"That's what I want, yes."

Each of them had a dagger. Neither of them were quite prepared for what would happen next.

Arika made the first move, lashing out at Sutter's shoulder.

Slow to the chase, Sutter ducked barely out of the way and made a movement towards her belly. It was clear neither of them had the full heart to fight, which was precisely what the Capitol _didn't_ want.

So they did something.

They set the airport on fire.

It was unnoticeable at first. While Arika and Sutter were making little lashes towards each other, Cerise had been sleeping when a tongue of fire licked at her feet. With a shriek, she leapt up, seeing only flames of gold.

The Gamemakers were pushing her towards the other remaining two.

It didn't take her long to arrive, and even less time for Arika and Sutter to realize that they had limited time, thanks to the incoming smoke. Sutter's movements were jerkier. Arika's were quicker.

Then Cerise came in, yelling like a howler monkey, sword clutched in hand.

There were to be no greetings for this finale. Just blades and blood.

Sutter, distracted, looked back at the new arrival. That was his fatal mistake.

Arika's sword dug deep, and he fell to the ground, his chest on fire, writhing and writhing and screaming as the fire suddenly set itself upon him, searing his tight skin and eating at his clothes. Arika and Cerise watched with wild eyes as the boy's gaze bit into them, tears fogging the sides of his vision, pleading and crying.

Nobody was there to save him.

Maybe it was for the best.

* * *

_3rd- Sutter Pryce, District Eight Male._

* * *

Arika and Cerise. Cerise and Arika.

District Six versus District Five.

Former allies.

Two of the youngest tributes in the game at just fifteen each.

Both killers.

They had so much in common. It was sort of like they were the same person.

But one of them had to go.

"Out of everybody in the Games, I never would have expected it to be us," Cerise said in disbelief.

"Never in a million years." Arika shook her head.

Conversation, they quickly decided, would only prolong the process of elimination, and the flames were flickering fast.

All in all, it was a short battle.

Cerise aimed for Arika's abdomen.

Arika lashed at Cerise's neck.

Cerise landed a hit on Arika's collarbone, slicing through the skin and colliding with bone. Hissing, Arika leapt back, right into a flame. Now screaming, Arika ran forward, her head whipped behind her to look at the fire…

And right into Cerise.

It happened in slow motion. Cerise's arms flailed, her eyes widened, and her body fell backwards, tripping over Sutter's charring corpse, and right into the worst of the fire.

Sweat dripping down Arika's temple, she watched as Cerise started screaming, trying to run but, having fallen to her knees, was unable.

It was so painful to watch her former friend bleed, skin popping and cracking as a result of the heat.

* * *

_2nd- Cerise Ramirez, District Five Female._

* * *

But in the end, it was what she had had to do.

No longer would Cerise dream about her parents, dreams that would never come true. In fact, they'd forget about their daughter in the length of a year.

Maybe it was for the better, so that Arika could live on. After all, she had _so much_ to live for.

* * *

_Victor- Arika Rillon, Distrixt Six Female._

* * *

**A/N: Beautiful Pain by Eminem featuring Sia.**

* * *

**Yeah. I never in a million years would have done a summary. I guess you all could have seen it coming, though. Months without updates, and when they came, they were sporadic or short. Kinda sucks that this is the way I'm going out with a bang, but at least I'm free from this site.**

**Watch as in five months I drop a new SYOT and think I'll have the motivation to finish that. Just watch me. **

**Life's really taken its toll on me. That sounds so fake and cliché, but life's terrible at the moment and I'm struggling. School. Family. Deaths. Sicknesses. Relationships. Sports. I'm in a rough spot right now and to top it all off, I have new classes and conditioning for soccer. So, yeah. There's my shitty excuse to finishing this story.**

**I really am sorry to all the submitters (all eighty plus of you, ahah) and everybody who will read this story in the future. I'd wanted to be cool, an accomplished author with multiple SYOT's for people to pick through and read, but I guess this isn't my proudest story.**

**These were not my original plans – I had Cerise and Sutter winning at some points – but in the end, Arika seemed the best victor to complete this all off. Congratulations to Ben, or ElementalEvolution, on his first victor!**

**Is this goodbye? Honestly, probably. I mean, I'm still here. Sometimes. If you really miss me that much, shoot me a PM. Replies are slow, but I'm here. It's not like I'm dead.**

**To wrap up this long, long A/N, I just wanna give a shoutout to all my friends and readers. Every single one of you, from those who hate me to those who worship the ground I walk on. ( my dog) This has been so crazy. This site has helped me through very much, from when I was unconfident and needed a boost, to when I just wanted to talk to somebody. And every single one of you made it possible for me to grow and develop, and I could never thank you enough. All of you… you're all really great. Really, really, really great, and I appreciate all the support that you've given me over my four years on this site.**

**Four years. **

**It literally feels like a lifetime.**

**My oldest stories are still here (well, the ones that I couldn't bring myself to delete, anyways) if you wanna take a crack at how I've improved ever since I arrived here. I was one of those '200 words a chapter' people. Now look. 4k and counting.**

**Crazy.**

* * *

_**Questions**_**:**

_**Final thoughts?**_

_**Thoughts on the victor?**_

_**Any last words for me?**_

* * *

**Well… yeah. I guess this concludes this. Final thank you to everybody who's helped me on here on my stories, and to the 'new generation'… good luck. It's rough.**

**It's been real.**

**-Sophia**


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